


Siguientes

by LadyCheshire25



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, F/M, Future Fic, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-14 20:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 75,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7188560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCheshire25/pseuds/LadyCheshire25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the President and CEO of the Kirijo Group suddenly disappears, Lieutenant Akihiko Sanada must stitch together the complicated pieces of a life he used to know. The way to Mitsuru Kirijo is fraught with past failures, secrets, regret, and atonement. Akihiko/Mitsuru. Ensemble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Missing

**August**

The first thing she should have done was delete the email. If the IT Department found out that Mitsuru Kirijo had clicked on a suspicious email, there would be a firestorm of increased filters and reminder emails. Mitsuru touched her lips thoughtfully as she re-read the one-sentence email

_Sonora is missing her children._

The sender's account hardly appeared innocuous, but Mitsuru saw no link, no ask for money, no ransom, and no threat. She meditated on the words a bit longer before she keyed in a search for 'Sonora' and 'missing children'

Her apartment was pitch black and she and her glowing laptop were the only signs of habitation in her Port Island loft. Mitsuru considered standing up to turn on a light and fix herself dinner, but the thought came and went without action.

She'd been wrapping up some review of the Finance Department audit report when the email notification had apparated onto her screen. It was a rather incredible thing, Mitsuru mused, that she had noticed the email at all all since she received a hundreds of emails each day. Now, she could look at little else beside the email and the smattering of U.S. news articles about the seventeen Sonoran schoolchildren missing since June.

The email itself was strange, but the contents that were clearly directed for her attention were rather puzzling. Callous as it was, Mexico had no shortage of missing persons, especially in the areas where the cartel and sicaros denned. While heartbreaking, child victims were well within the reach of human traffickers and drug lords. Curious, Mitsuru clicked on a news article halfway down the search results and began to read.

Mitsuru scanned the article carefully, absorbing the details of the children's intellectual talents and how they had been selected. She read about their parents who were sick with fear but too afraid to speak to the police. At some point, she read the name of the school.

Mitsuru read it again and felt her fingertips go numb. She quickly pulled the Kirijo Group's charitable giving portfolio from her remote desktop and found _Escuela de Agua Prieta._ Mechanically, she switched back the news article. Perhaps she had read it enough times that the fear had ebbed away. Perhaps denial was sinking in.

With a sigh, Mitsuru Kirijo leaned back in her office chair and ran her fingers over her eyes. Her rest lasted precious few seconds before she quickly replaced her reading glasses and read the email again.

Her father had indeed opened a charitable giving wing before his death and had commissioned several development projects in areas of the developing world including Sonora. His appointee to lead for VP of the department had been solid figure in the agency since Mitsuru was a child, but the gentleman had retired when Mitsuru was just beginning high school. The position had essentially remained vacant until after her father's death, when the board had selected the current VP. The obvious thing to do was to contact set up a meeting with the VP and draft an action plan about installing security measures for the children and their families in Sonora.

Mitsuru tapped her fingers. Something still wasn't adding up about the charitable giving wing's history.

Mitsuru's frown deepened into a scowl as an unsettling thought crept in. The Kirijo Group wouldn't leave an executive level position vacant for four years unless there was someone else taking on the critical tasks. The company directory archives wouldn't list anyone who didn't hold an official title, but her father's archived emails might.

Tired, Mitsuru stood up and reluctantly turned on a dim light. She leaned against frame of the large bay window overlooking a quiet street. Beside her, she fiddled with the leafy appendages of the ivy plant Fuuka had given her.

This view always calmed her, especially when she was working late. She'd see people walking their dogs, Gekkoukan High students prowling for ramen, and college girls giggling their way down the street. These scenes reminded her to pause and reach out to her friends. Now that they were adults, time was passing faster. Last year, she'd taken Fuuka, Aigis, and Yukari to Paris to celebrate ten years since Minato had come into their lives and they still went to dinner regularly. Ken was attending a university in the U.S. while Koromaru had retired to the countryside with Junpei and Chidori. Mitsuru suspected from their phone calls that the relative quiet to Port Island made Junpei crazy.

Mitsuru watched a police officer turn a corner with a an easy gait.

She had bumped into Captain Kurosawa last month at a fundraiser where he informed her that Akihiko had been promoted to Lieutenant. The others were too polite to even bring his name up in Mitsuru's presence, so the news came as a bit of a shock. Not that he hadn't worked fiercely for it, but Mitsuru hadn't spoken to Akihiko for at least three years. He was a Sergeant then and clearly had been hard at work since last they spoke. Mitsuru remembered the look on Kurosawa's face as she swallowed the good news with a tight smile.

" _He asks about you. In his own way, you understand."_

" _Please tell him-" Mitsuru had stopped herself. "Please tell him congratulations for me."_

" _I really think he'd rather hear it from you."_

She had politely changed the topic.

Mitsuru walked away from the window and returned to her laptop, her memory still failing to retrieve the name of the temporary replacement. She burrowed into her email archives, ignoring the dull pang incurred by reading the words of her dead father. Mitsuru scrolled down until she reached a set of emails entitled _Memorandum: Acting VP of Charitable Giving_.

Mitsuru made it a few sentences into the email before she pushed back from her desk, closing her eyes. Unreal was an unsuitable word. Shaking, Mitsuru allowed herself a deep breath before pulling her chair back up to her desk and finding a pad of paper and pen. Mitsuru's thoughts were sent into a spiral as she began to mechanically write.

_The man who had so easily gained the trust of a group of willing youth. . ._

She made a list of files she would need Chihiro to pull tomorrow morning, starting with the development paperwork for the schools in Mexico and Lebanon.

_The man who had brought them to their knees with a few simple lies. . ._

Mitsuru stared evenly at the name in front of her, as though she was staring the man himself with his easy smile and twinkling spectacles. It didn't matter that he was dead, nor did it matter that someone else had been appointed. It just meant more layers to peel back. It meant that he had had four years to manipulate, hide, lie, and tinker. It meant that he had more than enough time to start a slow drip of poison into a host of lives.

Mitsuru found a nearby pair of heels and smoothed over her hair.

She wouldn't be fooled this time. Dead or alive, the man who murdered her father and connived to send a group of students to the slaughter wouldn't be allowed to do the same to anyone else.

Mitsuru shut her laptop on Shuji Ikutski's name before she grabbed her coat and left her apartment.

* * *

_"Sergeant?"_

_The lamp on Sergeant Akihiko Sanada's desk cut a sharp beam of light cut across his line of sight as he looked up evenly at Officer Minami, currently standing in the doorway of Akihiko's office, cap in hand. He considered the junior officer for a moment before he nodded his head._

_"Minami. You got a name for me?"_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"Let's have it, then."_

_"Ryuhei Nishizaki."_

_He chewed on that name for moment before he decided he didn't care for the feeling it dropped in his gut._

_"That name mean anything to you?"_

_"No," said Minami curtly. A look of panic spread over his face as Akihiko fixed him with an appraising expression._

_"No, s-sir," Minami corrected himself quickly._

_"Well," Akihiko paused thoughtfully, drawing in a deep breath and looking back to the blanket of inked paper before him. "It's been a long week. You're headed to the Red Door, right?"_

_"Yes, sir."_

_Akihiko glanced at the clock on his desk while Minami shifted in his stance, moving his cap to his other hand._

_"Well, be on your guard," Akihiko cleared his throat, as he carefully spelled out Ryuhei Nishizaki on the margins of his notebook. "Captain Kurosawa tends to really cut loose there. Don't try and keep up with him."_

_"Yes, sir. I will, sir. Thank you, si-"_

_"Relax, Minami-san. It was a joke. . . sort of," Akihiko closed the binder before him and joined his hands, fixing the officer with a pointed look. Minami's posture seemed to defy physics and become even stiffer._

_"Yes, sir. Very good, sir."_

_"Was there something else you wanted to speak about, Minami-san?" Akihiko pressed his subordinate patiently, a tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth._

" _No, sir."_

_"Good. Now, get out of here and get drunk," Akihiko waved him off, covering his mouth as he yawned and reached for the cup of stale coffee he'd exiled to the corner of his desk._

_Minami gave a final salute before turning sharply from Akihiko's office. He could hear his clean footsteps march to the end of the hallway, and Akihiko only considered himself in the clear when he heard the elevator doors close. Finally alone, he dropped his pen and ran his hands over his face, his eyes bleary and red with fatigue. He and Minami had been out on patrol when they'd picked up a small time drug dealer. It hadn't taken long for the guy to start spilling names, especially when Minami had uttered the magic words "plea deal." One name led to another, and by 3pm they had one of Kantō's biggest traffickers in the interrogation room._

_Whoever Ryuhei Nishizaki was, Akihiko was about to set a personal best for shortest time between a name drop and booking._

_A buzzing noise set the entire left side of his desk into motion, and Akihiko gazed at it listlessly before picking up._

_"I'm calling to confess a crime."_

_At the sound of her voice, he felt his heart skip a beat._

_"You should have called ten minutes ago, before I was too exhausted by polite subordinates to care."_

_"Ah, but ten minutes ago I was committing a crime."_

_"The crime being. . .?"_

_"I seemed to have burned . . . rather, scorched to an unrecognizable heap of ash, a most promising lox soufflé."_

_Akihiko whistled._

_"Any witnesses?"_

_"None, although the curtains were open. The elderly gentleman in the flat across the way may know too much."_

_"You just leave him to me. Have you disposed of the evidence?"_

_"Yes, but I fear the smell is just as incriminating."_

_"You're in pretty deep, Kirijo-san. You may want to turn yourself in now and save your company the scandal of a cover-up. What will your private cooking instructor say? What was his name again? Pierre? Javier? Or was it Jacques?"_

_"Only three stereotypical French names? You must be very tired indeed, Akihiko."_

_"Check in with me tomorrow, I should have a few more after a good night's rest."_

_"Am I to understand that the Sergeant of the 16th precinct will not be breaking down my door with a platoon of officers in full riot gear?"_

_"Not tonight, but don't leave town."_

_"Now, that is a shame," Mitsuru let out a soft sigh on the other end of the line. "After all, I could not possibly live with myself if I commit another, perhaps more heinous crime."_

_"Firing Gustave?"_

_"Wasting half of the order I've just called in from Ekamai."_

_"Ekamai, huh?"_

_"It would be particularly unfortunate should the yellow curry go to waste. . ."_

_"Extortion is a serious crime, Kirijo-san."_

_"Only if it doesn't work."_

_"Well, it's been a long day . . . but then I knew overtime was part of the deal when I signed on."_

_"One favor to ask."_

_"Anything."_

_"Pick up a bottle of wine, anything will do."_

_"All right, but don't be expecting the fancy sauce François brings you. Still working my way up the ranks, you know."_

_"_ Raoul _only allows tastes."_

_Akihiko snapped his fingers, the name of Mitsuru's snooty chef clicking immediately._

" _I'd like something substantial to drink tonight, Sergeant," Mitsuru continued. "I'm quite confident in your palate."_

_"Famous last words. I'll be there in fifteen."_

* * *

**December**

"Lieutenant?"

Akihiko shook his head, his eyes buzzing on the pile of reports in front of him.

Damn. He had drifted off again. Three late nights in a row and he was starting to get sloppy. He blinked up at Minami and gave him a stiff nod.

"What is it?" He asked groggily, tapping his desktop mouse to revive his computer.

"Someone is here to see you, sir."

Akihiko frowned.

"To see me?" he took in a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "I thought we agreed no lawyers after midnight."

"She's - she's not a lawyer. At least she didn't say she was. Think she's just a civilian, sir. Said she knew you."

Akihiko opened his mouth, not keen on seeing a member of the public if he could avoid it at this late hour. If he was daydreaming on the job, it was time for him to go somewhere dark and sleep for a few hours. He wasn't going to be of much use to anyone in his current condition.

"Said her name was Fuuka Yamagishi, sir." Minami cut him off before he spoke. "Seems quite urgent."

"Send her in," Akihiko said tersely, standing up quickly and moving around his desk. Minami jostled out and soon came back with Fuuka in step.

One look at her, and Akihiko knew something had happened. Pale and trembling, Fuuka's already fragile stature looked stressed even further by the dark circles under her eyes and her haphazard attire. He peeled his eyes away from her and made a sharp motion to Minami to shut the door. As soon as he did, Akihiko rushed to embrace his old friend. She crashed into him and immediately wetted his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and gently guided her to a chair.

"What happened?" he murmured, squeezing her shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm so sorry to intrude on you like this," she started with a sniff.

"No, no, don't do that, Fuuka," Akihiko said as he threw himself over his desk to rummage for a box of tissues in his desk. He quickly found a few and offered them to Fuuka. She pushed the tissues to her cheeks gratefully as Akihiko returned his hand to her shoulder.

"Akihiko," Fuuka tried to steady her voice with a deep breath. "I need your help."

"Tell me what happened," Akihiko pressed, covering her hand with his. "Tell me how I can help."

Fuuka bit her lip.

"I think Mitsuru is in danger."

"What?" Akihiko said loudly, more out of surprise than anger. Judging by her reaction, Fuuka didn't seem to know the difference.

"No one's heard from her for over month," she recovered quickly. "We've checked her apartment and the manor at Yakushima and there's no sign of her anywhere. No one knew anything about where she was and the Kirijo Group isn't telling us anything except that she's taking a holiday-"

He wasn't sure if Fuuka had breathed at all during that sentence. Akihiko took a minute to pat her shoulder and worked keep Fuuka focused on him. He was anything but a social worker and typically Akihiko wasn't this soft with the few victims who came through his office, but Fuuka was a friend and she was clearly in distress. If it had been anyone else, Akihiko might have gotten the tissues out but dialed everything else down to zero.

"Let's back up for a second here," Akihiko said slowly. "What about the staff at Yakushima? They had to have known something."

"They said she was on vacation," Fuuka said exasperatedly, dabbing her eyes.

Akihiko pondered his next sentence carefully. There was obviously some sort of misunderstanding here. Mitsuru had probably left for a couple of back-to-back business trips or maybe book-ended a trip with a small side-trip somewhere.

"Fuuka, if the Kirijo Group and Mitsuru's staff are all saying she's on vacation, what makes you think she's not on vacation?" he asked patiently.

Fuuka was wearing a look Akihiko had seen on Yukari before she slapped somebody. He felt flummoxed to say the least. Usually, Fuuka was the one you could count on to talk you down from being crazy. The last time Akihiko had seen Fuuka like this was on the night Ken didn't come home after Shinji's death. Even when Fuuka wasn't calm, she never got angry. Panicked, distressed, and maybe a little snippy, but never angry.

"A _month's_ vacation, Akihiko?" Fuuka asked incredulously.

That was a fair point, but Akihiko wasn't exactly in the loop about what Mitsuru did or didn't do nowadays. He still counted her as his best friend, but they weren't exactly on friendly terms.

"I'm just saying," Akihiko said evenly. "That even if she didn't take vacations, there's no reason she couldn't start-"

"No," Fuuka insisted sharply, balling up her fists and beating them against her lap. Surprised by her tone, Akihiko leaned in to her and squeezed her hands in an effort to calm her.

"She wouldn't," the tears were slipping out faster now. "Not without telling one of us."

Akihiko leaned back with a sigh.

Fuuka was upset, but what she was saying wasn't illogical. Mitsuru's vacations were always short and always included the others in one way or another. On the rare occasion she went alone, it was typically for a day, two tops. Akihiko doubted that much had changed during the last few years.

Akihiko glanced over to his desk as Fuuka tried to muffle her crying into the crumpled tissue. It wasn't his job to agree with every theory or idea that walked in his door. It was his job to try and poke holes and find alternatives. With Mitsuru Kirijo, anything was possible. Fuuka just needed to remember that.

"Let's say for just a minute that she is missing. What makes you think she's in danger, Fuuka?"

Fuuka swallowed as she darted her eyes.

"The truth is, Yukari, Aigis, and I have been trying to get in touch with her for the last two weeks."

Akihiko dipped his head toward her in disbelief.

"We've called Ken and Junpei and neither have heard from her. We even booked a flight to Paris yesterday to see if she's at her flat - but then tonight," Fuuka let out a shaky sigh before drawing up the strength to finish.

"Tonight I had a dream where I saw senpai in a desert. I saw her standing across from a man. She had her hands up. I couldn't hear what she was saying but then the man . . . he shot her and-"

"Fuuka, listen to me," Akihiko interrupted, squelching the fear reaction in his gut with logic. "You're upset and you're anxious. You had a dream, but it was just a dream-"

"I felt Artemisia," Fuuka murmured. "I felt her reach out to me."

Akihiko resisted the urge to physically draw back.

"She was trying to tell me that Mitsuru is in danger, Akihiko."

Akihiko looked on at his friend without expression as Fuuka dropped her head to her hands, her growing frustration giving way to more tears. Akihiko stood up, went to his desk, and started typing. He worked for a few minutes before grabbing a fresh wad of tissues and returning to the seat next to Fuuka. Akihiko hesitated before he replaced his hands over hers.

"She's not in our missing persons database. There's no risk of flight notice and no person of interest flag. International search engines will need to cook for a minute, but I'd say if the Kirijo Group hasn't said anything, those won't turn up much either."

"You don't believe me," Fuuka said miserably.

"Who did you come here to talk to, Fuuka?" Akihiko asked flatly.

Fuuka raised her head, puzzled.

"Did you come to talk to a friend? Or did you come to speak with a police officer?"

She shook her head.

"I-"

"What happens next depends on who you're talking to."

Akihiko was staring intently at her.

"You," Fuuka whispered, the tears slowing to a few drops. "I came here to talk to you, senpai."

"All right," Akihiko nodded. "I can look into a few things, outside of this office. If I need to start bringing people in or looking at evidence, you and I need to meet in a different capacity."

* * *

Fuuka didn't live far outside of the city, but the last train had already left. Akihiko insisted that she stay the night at his apartment. Fuuka declined emphatically and Akihiko insisted again albeit a little less polite the second time around.

"It's been a while since I was here," Fuuka croaked kindly, and Akihiko could almost feel the toll the night had taken on her.

Still, she seemed to enjoy reminiscing over the drab walls and lonely sofa couch. The last time Fuuka had been here was a few years ago. During the summer of Ken's freshmen year of college, they were all in town at the same time and Junpei got it in his head that they were going to have an epic poker night. He also got it in his head that it would be an epic battle of the sexes end-all be-all of poker nights. Mitsuru graciously volunteered Akihiko's apartment (her revenge for never being invited over).

They hadn't even ended up playing poker that night. They just sat around talking all night and sipping drinks. No one had said anything and everyone had smiled when Mitsuru took Akihiko's hand in plain sight.

That was a long time ago, though.

Akihiko flicked on the light and found his way into the spare bedroom and began setting up the futon. He wasn't sure if Fuuka had followed him in here and nearly jumped when he heard her voice.

"I wanted - we wanted to come to you sooner, Akihiko."

Akihiko looked over his shoulder and smiled wearily at Fuuka. She was hugging herself against the cold and Akihiko reminded himself of the extra blankets on top of the closet.

"Yukari wanted to go to Paris first. I don't think she wanted to upset you."

"No need to explain," Akihiko admitted, smoothing out the futon. "I know how grudges work."

Not that he blamed her. If someone had broken his best friend's heart, he'd be less than eager to ask for their help.

"It's not that," Fuuka said mildly. "She's just protective of Mitsuru. She thought you might be . . . reluctant to help."

"Yeah, well," Akihiko grunted, pulling down a few more blankets from the top shelf of the closet. "Can't say she was wrong exactly."

"She's wrong," Fuuka countered softly. Akihiko turned around to her, feeling a blush creep up his neck.

"The group used to disappear sometimes, in Tartarus," Fuuka stated, holding his gaze. Akihiko watched her swallow a lump in her throat.

"Someone would get separated or caught in a fight. It happened to you and Mitsuru on occasion, too. At first, I'd send whoever was closest to help, but I started to notice that it didn't matter who was closest. You'd always get to each other first. At some point, I stopped asking the others and would just call you or Mitsuru if the other was in trouble," Fuuka admitted.

"I don't know what happened between you and Mitsuru, Akihiko," Fuuka said simply. "But you've always found each other. You were always the first to heal each other."

"I'm just outside if you need anything," Akihiko said quickly, fleeing the room and breathing a sigh of relief as soon as he shut the door.

He grabbed a hooded sweatshirt and made a quick escape to the rooftop terrace, abandoned in the early hours of the morning. As the door slammed shut behind him, Akihiko dropped to the ground and began to fire off a round of push ups. Akihiko mounted a hundred and remembered a warning Kurosawa had issued to him during his days as a rookie.

_There will be a day when someone you know walks through your door._

Akihiko jumped up from the ground and found a pair of iron bars hanging low over his head. In the summer, pots of plants hung from the bars. In the winter, they were bare. He began pulling himself up, too hard and too fast, the sweat slipping into his eyes.

_When they do, all of your training as an officer of the law will jump out the window._

He dropped to the ground, and didn't get back up. Above him, the night sky was clouded by the city haze. Akihiko wrenched his eyes shut and gasped for air.

_When it does, you get your ass downstairs. . ._

He told himself he hadn't seen all of the cards yet. He had yet to interview, research, and examine. Akihiko's job hadn't even started yet. None of it mattered, something told him. In the end he would find that she really was missing. Akihiko had shut down his fear when he needed to, but he'd won a moment of indulgence. He clicked off the autopilot and let fear and panic cover him like a warm blanket.

_Pick it up. . ._

Mitsuru Kirijo did not walk away from her company. Mitsuru Kirijo did not walk away from her friends. All those years ago, she hadn't even walked away from him. He had done that for her.

Something had taken her away.

_. . . And get back to work._


	2. Breadcrumbs

**August**

As the clear morning sunlight slowly fanned through the top floor corner office of the Kirijo Headquarters, Mitsuru Kirijo closed the last file folder from the pile on her desk before swiveling her chair toward the window. Since officially stepping into her role as CEO, Mitsuru had watched the sun rise and set from this office dozens of times. During the last two weeks, she hadn't missed one.

The heavy sensation in her head and the breaking light indicated that it was time to return home to sleep for an hour before resuming running the company.

After Mitsuru had received the anonymous email, she instructed Chihiro to fetch a list of files from archives under the strict caveat that Chihiro use Mitsuru's clearance code and skip completing the official request form. If something suspect was indeed happening in her company, Mitsuru didn't want to raise any red flags. Chihiro had expertly made photocopies of everything before returning the originals to their location in the basement.

The file review had not yielded any significant findings, as she expected, though there were some minor inconsistencies. A few of the journal entries from finance had flimsy back-up documentation. Others referenced cost centers Mitsuru had never seen before, though that was hardly strange considering the size of her company. The records of the students were sparse and appeared all too homogenous and sterilized, and it had been years since anyone from Kirijo Headquarters had conducted a field visit. The curriculum was in need of updating, but standard for the young age group. Judging by the photos in the file, the buildings were state of the art, but hardly what one would call flashy.

There were irregularities, but nothing to warrant an internal investigation.

Mitsuru picked up the files and carefully arranged them into her briefcase.

She couldn't help but berate herself for not paying closer attention to this wing of her company. It was no less vital to the overall health of the company than any other department.

Mitsuru walked into the elevator, pondering what course to take with the anonymous email. She'd burned the stack of files into her mind for the last two weeks, but was no closer to having any concrete evidence linking the missing school children to her department.

Mitsuru needed to dig deeper, but also needed time to plan how to do so without drawing attention. It wouldn't go unnoticed if the CEO reached into department records and started asking ground-level questions. If anything was happening in Charitable Giving, Mitsuru had to let it keep happening. She needed data. She needed proof.

When she returned home, she scanned the news for updates on the Sonoran school children before curling up on her bed and setting her alarm for an hour.

* * *

_"I think we should. . ."_

_Mitsuru watched him take a deep breath, the lapels of his uniform stiff against his chest._

_He had come here after his shift, she noted to herself._

_Akihiko stood a few steps from the door, and even though he had just arrived a few moments ago, Mitsuru knew he would be gone within a matter of minutes. During their relationship of two years, they had both become more adept at communicating. Like a time release capsule, they both had slowly divulged their thoughts, opinions, and feelings to each other to the point where their exchanges were close to easy._

_When the phone calls suddenly stopped and the cancellations began, Mitsuru realized the event was imminent._

_Mitsuru didn't seek him out to end things herself. It would have been prudent and might have eased the tension of the inevitable conversation on both of them. Part of her was hoping for a resolution, something that would be discussed and a subsequent realization that whatever was troubling Akihiko was just a misunderstanding. Another part of her told her that she was an obstacle in his life. One that stood in the way of focus, strength - a promotion._

" _I think we should go our separate ways, Mitsuru."_

_Mitsuru nodded absently, her hands at her side._

" _I see," she said, pushing back the wave of grief that pushed up against the back of her eyes. Mitsuru forced herself to look at him, even though the cracks were beginning to show. He looked back at her, and Mitsuru caught a flash of revulsion in his eyes before he quickly looked away._

_This is what he wanted._

" _I. . . understand," she said carefully. "I won't stand in your way, Akihiko."_

_He left without another word, the door slamming shut behind him._

* * *

She woke up gasping.

"Damn it," she whispered to her pillow, reaching for the alarm clock on the side of her bed. If she wanted to, she could let herself rest for another twenty minutes. Mitsuru cast the idea out contemptuously and instead took a quick shower in an attempt to shed the sudden agitation she was feeling.

After all these years, she still dreamed about him.

Mitsuru returned to the office promptly after changing and resumed working on her regular tasks. Even as she met with shareholders and reviewed documents from Research and Development, Mitsuru's head buzzed with frustration. She couldn't keep this routine up for much long before her energy started flagging. If that happened, it was bound to be noticed by her overly paternalistic Board Chair.

"Chihiro," Mitsuru pushed the page button her on her intercom. "Step into my office, please."

Mitsuru peered over her glasses as Chihiro Fushimi calmly made her way toward Mitsuru's desk. Chihiro had always impressed Mitsuru with her sharp mind and attention to detail. Her former student council protege's studious nature and diligence had sealed Mitsuru's decision to recruit Chihiro as Mitsuru's personal assistant five years ago after Chihiro had moved home to tend to her aging parents.

"Yes, Kirijo-san?"

"Is Procurement aware of the company's two signature policy on checks?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Can you tell me why these checks are on my desk to be signed instead of awaiting signature with the department head?"

"The Program Manager and Director are doing site evaluations in Osaka for the week. The secretary must have forgotten to put it on the out of office calendar," Chihiro noted, furiously scratching on a pad of paper. "You were next on the authorized signatures list. Is there someone else you'd like to have sign these checks?"

"I don't mind reviewing payments," Mitsuru waved her hand. "But the department heads are closer to the ground than I . . ." she trailed off, suddenly staring intensely at the check in front of her.

"Kirijo-san?"

Mitsuru pivoted her stare to Chihiro.

"Chihiro, do you remember when I asked you to pull those Charitable Giving files from the archives two weeks ago?"

"Y-Yes," Chihiro replied strangely, taken back by the sudden shift in topic.

"I'm interested in these files because I'd like to expand the Kirijo Group's donor base," Mitsuru said evenly. "It's time to recruit additional development sponsors for the schools in Mexico and Lebanon."

"All right," Chihiro said slowly. "How may I help you?"

"I need you to pull every check copy from Charitable Giving associated with Agua Prieta and Al Boutul from the last ten years. It will give me an idea of how much in annual giving we need to solicit from any interested donors."

"Sure, I'll do that right away-"

"No," Mitsuru said sharply. Chihiro gazed back, unsure how to respond.

"I need you do this first thing tomorrow morning or at the end of your shift tonight. Preferably tonight," Mitsuru clarified, her voice softening some.

Chihiro nodded silently.

"This is a sensitive matter to the Board," Mitsuru continued carefully. "I'd rather keep you away from any overly curious personnel. I need time," she finished absently to the check in her hand.

"I understand," Chihiro said simply, still fixing Mitsuru with a confused gaze. "I'll make photocopies and return the originals to storage."

"Be sure to use my credentials again. Thank you, Chihiro," Mitsuru said, placing the check face down on her desk and turning to face her assistant fully. "You are a valuable asset to this company."

"Thank you, Kirijo-san," Chihiro blushed. "You'll have those files tonight."

As promised, at a quarter past eight, Chihiro delivered a thick stack of check copies to Mitsuru's desk. As Mitsuru began working her way through the documents, she noted that none of the signatures belonged to her. Unlike Procurement, Charitable Giving's only authorized signer was the VP. Company policy dictated that if a department had less than two designated signers, the CEO had to be the second signature on all checks.

Mitsuru looked over her shoulder at the setting sun before piling her hair into a loose knot behind her head.

The VP's signature was the first signature on all of the checks. However, the second signature scratched onto each and every check from the last ten years looked familiar, but Mitsuru couldn't quite put a name to it. Mitsuru stared at it a bit longer before she turned to her computer and pulled up the Kirijo Company Board Charter, signed by all of Board Members annually. As she ran down the list, she stopped halfway through at Eito Akabe's name. Mitsuru held one of the check copies next to her monitor and murmured her favorite French curse word, her blood boiling.

Her Board Treasurer was authorizing use of funds behind her back.

Mitsuru dove into the heap of paper, this time focusing on dates. She compared it to her planner from the previous year and immediately noticed on the date of first check, she was in Prague attending a conference on nanotechnology. The date of another check occurred at the same time Mitsuru was in Paris working on a trade agreement with the French government. Every check was cut on a day that Mitsuru was absent from the company. Any board member could authorize funds in Mitsuru's absence, but to have every check from Charitable Giving signed by the same Board member? And cut every time she was out of the office?

Mitsuru neatly stacked the copies together before depositing the documents into her attache and shutting down her computer. She would not stay here again tonight.

She was starting to piece together enough evidence to show something was amiss, but nothing she had would tell her much else. Mitsuru needed details. She needed names, evidence, and if she cared enough to ask for a motive after she executed them, Mitsuru would ask for that too. When it was all said and done, she noted to herself wryly, she needed to light a fire in the Finance Department for overlooking such a gross irregularity without question.

The sky was still basking in the glow of the setting sun as Mitsuru exited Headquarters. When she arrived home, Mitsuru went directly to her inbox and retrieved the email from two weeks ago and began typing.

_Let's talk._

A week later, the first manilla envelope arrived.

* * *

Mitsuru's doorman delivered the envelope to her. He stated that a courier service had been by and had left the parcel with him. Not surprisingly, there was no return address on the envelope. Just Mitsuru's name and apartment number. She opened the envelope with some trepidation.

Nothing could have prepared her for the contents.

The first set of photos were of the rooms in Agua Prieta. Mitsuru recalled the photos of classrooms, but these had obviously been taken some time after the photos her company had on record. The rooms had been modified; removed of desks and books. Instead, the room had a row of evokers stationed against the wall, and a neat line of IV drips facing the front of the room. Mitsuru only recognized the classroom from the original chalkboard and desk at the head of the room.

She peeled back the photos and angrily swallowed the pained sigh in her throat. The next photo was of a young girl, strapped to a gurney, the fear on her face tangible. Someone in a lab coat was putting an evoker in her hand and holding her down by the shoulder while another was checking the IV drip.

Mitsuru shuddered, the bile rising in her throat.

A boy, looking over his shoulder with a terrified expression with a gun in his small hands. Another boy, huddled on the ground shivering as a grotesque apparition hung over him. A girl, cradling her head with tears streaming down her cheeks.

Mitsuru forced herself to look at each and every photo, each more grisly than the last. When she finished going through the stack of photos, 26 in all from Agua Prieta, Mitsuru made for her bathroom and vomited.

The children in the last five photos had been photographed posthumously.

Mitsuru spent the next several minutes hugging her knees to her chest on the bathroom floor.

There was no letter to accompany the photos. The sender obviously thought the photos required no explanation and Mitsuru was inclined to agree. She recalled reading the mission statement for the Agua Prieta School, released by her father on the day of the ribbon-cutting.

_A safe place now exists for children to pursue an education free of persecution, intimidation, and poverty. To those children who seek the light of knowledge, camaraderie, and the promise of a bright future: Welcome._

Mitsuru swallowed, the tears streaming down her face.

Instead those children had been tortured, experimented on, and some even murdered under the guise of a humanitarian operation led by her company.

Their blood was on her hands.

Mitsuru traced her index finger to her lip, grappling with the options for next steps in her mind.

Whoever had sent her the email and the envelope must have known she was unaware of what was happening in these schools, otherwise they would have come after her a lot harder.

This could all be a trap, she thought. Someone might want to lure her out before hitting her with a public scandal and tearing the Kirijo Group apart. The international community would be out for blood, regardless of Mitsuru's ignorance. This person was obviously waiting for her to make a move, but Mitsuru was uncertain about her place on their chessboard.

It didn't matter, Mitsuru told herself sternly, wiping her eyes. She didn't need to become any further ensnared in any one else's agenda. Instead she could play along while finding a way to break down the operations in Mexico and, no doubt, Lebanon.

Now that she had evidence that atrocities were indeed occurring at Agua Prieta and being covered up on an executive level, she needed to know who was fueling them as well as why, when, and how these unspeakable horrors were being allowed to carry on. No doubt the person on the other end of the email account had some plan in store for Mitsuru herself, but Mitsuru would address that later. As long as their communication kept yielding information, she was willing to be blindly led for a short time.

Shakily, she stood up and went to her laptop.

_I'm listening._

* * *

**December**

Akihiko walked Fuuka to the train station the next morning and bought her breakfast. They sipped their coffee in the corner of a small convenience store while they waited for her train. They were bound for Paris tomorrow morning, Fuuka said before offering to stay back to help Akihiko. He declined. Even though Akihiko had told her he wasn't helping as a police officer, an interrogation was inevitable.

"When was the last time you heard from her?"

"She took us to Paris for a weekend in October," Fuuka said, smiling sadly.

Akihiko hummed. That was nothing new. Mitsuru had made a tradition of taking S.E.E.S. to Paris every year near or on the anniversary of Shinji's death ever since Ken graduated from High School. Akihiko used to join them, but these days he observed the anniversary alone.

"Who was there?" he cleared his throat.

"It was me, Aigis, Yukari, and Junpei-kun. . . Ken was studying for mid-terms and Koro-chan is too old to travel any more," Fuuka reminded him. "When we got back, we made plans to catch up in November, but no one heard from her."

"Was she working on anything while you were in Paris?" Akihiko asked, tracing the rim of his foam cup.

"She seemed distracted," Fuuka shrugged. "She told us the company was just exploring partnerships . . .There was odd one thing," Fuuka added suddenly, her gaze lost on an empty table behind Akihiko.

"Odd?" Akihiko pressed.

"Well, maybe not odd. Just memorable. She went out by herself one night."

Akihiko leaned back and crossed his arms.

"Did she say why?"

"She said she was meeting a business associate for dinner. Yukari was teasing her about it, but I think she was a little worried. Yukari, that is."

"Why would she be worried about Mitsuru?" Akihiko asked, his voice changing.

Mitsuru had previously faced pressure both from Akihiko and from the company Board to hire security detail, but she had remained steadfast in her demand to live her life without fear. Her private time was precious enough, she had argued. There was no threat she couldn't handle by herself. Akihiko wasn't sure how Mitsuru had gotten the Board off her back about the issue, but she had compromised with Akihiko by allowing him to give her a few self-defense lessons.

Akihiko found himself wondering if he had yielded too easily on the issue of a bodyguard.

"It was all just very strange," Fuuka added with a squint. "Mitsuru hadn't mentioned anything about working while we were there. She's always been very focused on spending time with us when we go to Paris, so it didn't seem altogether truthful that she was going to a business dinner on such short notice. It felt like she was hiding something, but we just assumed she was going on a-"

Fuuka blushed suddenly, her eyes uncomfortably seeking out the blank stretch of table in front of her.

"A date?" Akihiko offered pointedly, eyebrows raised.

"Sorry," Fuuka murmured.

"It's fine," Akihiko waved his hand as he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Do you remember what time she left and when she returned?"

"She left fairly early for dinner," Fuuka said carefully. "Early for Paris, anyway. Around seven, I think. I don't know what time she came back to the flat, but it was after we'd all gone to sleep. We went to breakfast the next morning and she made it sound like it was just a working dinner that went long."

"Did Mitsuru say where they went for dinner?"

"No," Fuuka said with some disappointment. "Somewhere very nice, I'm sure."

"I'm sure," Akihiko muttered. "I'm assuming she didn't mention the name of the person she was meeting."

"No," Fuuka confirmed again. All the 'no' answers were leaving Akihiko's friend with a guilty expression. Akihiko tapped his gloved fingers to the table.

"Do you know if she had her locks changed?" he asked. Fuuka lifted her eyes to him as she shook her head.

"No. . . I mean our keys still worked."

Good, Akihiko thought as he finished his coffee. His key might still work, too.

* * *

Akihiko watched Fuuka board her train before going in for his shift. Today was his day to catch up on paperwork, and after making a sufficient dent in his reports, Akihiko went straight to Mitsuru's flat.

Her doorman still remembered him.

"Haven't seen you in some time, Sergeant," he said to Akihiko, bowing slightly. Akihiko nodded to him as he walked into the spotless white tile of the lobby.

"It is still Sergeant, right?"

"Lieutenant," Akihiko said distractedly, peering up at the security cameras. "But it's all the same thing. Just more paperwork."

"Ah," the doorman said, chuckling. "Well, Kirijo-san is out on vacation but I'm happy to take a message for her, if you like."

"Oh, so she told you she was going on vacation?"

"Well, no, actually," the doorman replied sheepishly. "Someone from her company called. Asked me to hold her mail for her while she was out. I get calls from her assistant from time to time making sure everything's okay on this end."

Akihiko's eyes wandered back up the security cameras as he scratched his neck. He needed more details but was reluctant to ask too many questions yet. Whether Mitsuru's absence involved the Kirijo Group or not, it wasn't unreasonable to assume her building was under surveillance.

"Sorry to trouble you, but do you think I could run upstairs really quick?" Akihiko asked kindly. "I told her I would water her plants while she was gone."

"Oh. Some of her friends were here the other day. . . they didn't mention anyone else would be by," the doorman said slowly.

"Not surprising. I doubt they remembered I still had my key," he chuckled.

The doorman smiled, but kept his eyes sharply on Akihiko as he disappeared behind his workstation.

"Let me just double check her approved visitors list," the doorman said. Akihiko's stomach dropped as he nodded cordially.

He was going to have to figure out another way in, Akihiko thought as he rubbed his hands together. That list was updated every six months and no reasonable person would keep their ex-boyfriend of three years on a visitor's list. Maybe he could distract the doorman long enough to get to the security footage. It might contain some helpful information. Akihiko drummed his fingers against his arm as he quickly scanned the doorman's expression, still locked on the computer screen.

Akihiko changed his mind as he made small and slow circles around the lobby. Going after the cameras would be a waste of time. Most places like this purged surveillance footage after a week, sometimes less-

"Head on up, Lieutenant."

Surprised, Akihiko turned around to face him.

"Excuse me?"

"You can go up, son," the doorman repeated slowly. "You're on her list."

"Thanks," Akihiko said blankly. Perplexed, he made his way to the elevator.

* * *

Her apartment door gave way with a gentle click of his key.

Akihiko drew in a steadying breath, wanting to be anywhere but here. As he stepped inside, the stillness of her flat gave him a cool reception. The door closed behind him quietly as he surveyed glimpses of her kitchen and dining room. He looked beyond the archway her hallway and noted the furniture had been rearranged slightly since he was last here, but everything else remained the same.

Akihiko began to move through her apartment, his feet moving forward as though trying to walk against a rushing river.

He started in the kitchen.

* * *

" _What the hell do you want from me, Mitsuru?" Akihiko snapped, his voice rising. Mitsuru stood next to a bowl of penne tossed in a red sauce, freshly garnished with salt and pepper._

_Akihiko couldn't remember exactly how the fight had started, but he vaguely recalled it had something to do with Akihiko opting to enter a boxing match in Thailand the same week Koromaru was scheduled to have surgery to remove a tumor._

_Mitsuru crossed her arms, the expression on her face clearly indicating that she had lost her appetite both for dinner and Akihiko. Akihiko got the sense that he had made his point, but his tirade continued._

" _I forgot. I'll call Iori and let him know. He'll understand," he said as a way of apologizing._

_Mitsuru was silent._

" _What do you want me to do?" Akihiko pressed angrily, ignoring the rising urge to offer a more authentic apology and cancel the match._

" _Your friends don't always need you for your fighting ability, Akihiko," Mitsuru said sadly._

_Silence filled the apartment._

" _I've already signed the agreement," Akihiko cringed at himself as the words came out, but managed not to show it._

_Mitsuru sighed._

" _I see," she said quietly. "Then, I think I'm entitled to this."_

_Before Akihiko could respond, Mitsuru had picked up the bowl on the counter and upturned the rose colored penne over Akihiko's head._

_Long after they had cleaned up, neither of them had been able to stop laughing._

* * *

The kitchen counters were spotless and a few apples sat wrinkled and forgotten in a small ceramic bowl.

He opened the fridge and found it bare, save for a pitcher of water on the bottom shelf. After idly removing each of the knives from the wooden block on the counter, Akihiko went to the dining table and skimmed his fingers along the drapes covering the large bay window. The gloves on his hands picked up no dust. Akihiko lifted the sagging leaves of an ivy plant that Fuuka had given Mitsuru as a gift on her twenty-fifth birthday.

* * *

_Akihiko watched Mitsuru gently pour a pitcher of water into the basin of the ivy plant as she carried on a phone conversation in French. He caught her gaze and she smiled at him softly. Akihiko returned her smile and the room suddenly grew warmer and more bright._

_The smile lingered on his lips after she returned to her office and persisted as he mended his gloves._

* * *

He moved away from the plant quickly.

Akihiko turned his head up the darkened stairs before stepping lightly to the second floor. His throat went dry as scanned her bed for any signs of disturbance. He sat down on her bed gently and opened the first drawer of an adjacent night stand. Akihiko frowned at the pile of political and economic periodicals as he picked them up and flipped through the pages. His fingers caught on something loose and it dropped to his feet.

He dropped the periodicals next to his spot on the bed as he picked up the photograph. Akihiko chewed the insides of his mouth as he looked up and then looked back down at his own face. Fuuka had taken this photo at Yakushima during Yukari's birthday celebration.

* * *

_Akihiko and Mitsuru watched from a distance as Yukari bolted into the ocean after Junpei. As a birthday gift, Junpei had just poured a bucket of water on Yukari while she was sunbathing._

" _He's going to get it now," Akihiko murmured, watching Koromaru skip over the waves as he tripped Junpei. Ken roared with laughter on the shore._

_Mitsuru laughed softly next to him as they watched their friends play in the setting sun._

" _Thank you for coming, Akihiko. I know you've been busy training for your placement examination."_

" _I wouldn't miss it," Akihiko said, mesmerized by her eyes sparkling in the dimming light._

" _Smile, senpai!"_

* * *

Fuuka had taken the picture while Akihiko and Mitsuru were smiling at each other - not wide toothy grins like Junpei or Ken, but quiet and contained smiles reserved just for each other. They held each other's gaze, the sun frozen in place as it set.

Akihiko blinked and carefully returned the photo to its stowaway position amidst the magazines. He pulled the pile back into his lap and continued flipping through the pages. Finding nothing, he dropped the stack of magazines back into the drawer before shutting it carefully.

He went into her bathroom next.

* * *

" _Didn't you get rid of that thing?" The water in the claw footed bath tub sloshed gently as Akihiko carefully dipped the sponge into the water and ran it over the long row of scrapes on Mitsuru's bare upper back._

_Akihiko sat on a stool behind her, his legs immersed in the water beside Mitsuru's arms as he professionally cleaned the dirt from her road rash injuries. The water was warm, but Mitsuru sat with her knees drawn tightly to her chest._

_She was silent for a moment before she sighed._

" _I gave the keys to Minato," Mitsuru finally said._

_Akihiko froze._

" _After he. . ." Mitsuru shifted in the water slightly. "I had another key made, but I reminded myself of the promise I made to stop running. It's been some time since I've taken it out."_

_The water rippled again and Akihiko slowly dragged the sponge up and down her neck._

" _Clearly," Akihiko hummed._

_Mitsuru made an indignant scoff as she splashed him vindictively._

_Akihiko laughed._

* * *

One of Ken's paintings from high school hung on the wall opposite of the mirror. Akihiko took a moment to appreciate it - a faded statue of a warrior woman among mossy ruins. He squinted at the title and smirked: _Artemisia Resting_.

Akihiko turned back to the sink, where a single bottle of unlabeled perfume stood next to a glass vase holding a few makeup brushes. A group of succulents were lined against the back of the counter - undoubtedly another birthday gift from Fuuka, recent enough for Akihiko to have missed. Akihiko ventured into Mitsuru's walk-in closet. Just like the rest of her flat, it was flawlessly organized. Her wardrobe, mainly grayscale articles of clothing with some splashes of color, was undisturbed.

Akihiko took note of the suitcase neatly sitting at the top of the closet shelf.

He glanced toward the shelves along the far side of her closet and carefully opened up the smallest drawer first. Pools of satin and silk hugged the edges of the drawer. Akihiko started to reach into the drawer but quickly withdrew, feeling slightly unnerved at the idea of himself (an _ex-_ boyfriend, for crying out loud) rummaging through Mitsuru's unmentionables. He went to close the drawer but before he shut it completely, a scrap of blue paper caught his eye. It was wedged between the wall and base of the drawer, and with some effort, he coaxed it out with his index finger.

A poorly written phone number was scratched on the surface. Seeing that it was not a Japanese phone number, Akihiko pocketed the number and left the closet.

Akihiko descended the stairs and decided to see if Mitsuru's office could yield any additional secrets. A single laptop computer sat on her desk. A cup of fine tipped pens was placed on the corner of her desk and propped against it was a little black book. A photo of Mitsuru, Yukari, Fuuka, and Aigis was hung prominently over Mitsuru's desk. The women were bunched tightly together and laughing, the Champs-Élysées stretching on for miles in the background.

A caption tucked into the frame indicated the photo had been taken two months ago in October. Akihiko glued his eyes to Mitsuru. She was always impossible to read; a mystery tucked underneath a golden veneer of composure. While she appeared perfectly content and carefree in this photo, Akihiko couldn't help but look for the troubles she could have been harboring.

Akihiko resisted the urge to open the laptop. If need be, he could come back with Fuuka and she'd find a way to look at the contents without drawing any suspicion from the Kirijo Group. Instead, Akihiko reached for the simple leather bound address book tucked into a shelf.

He skipped over any of the contacts he recognized and began copying down the details of Mitsuru's personal staff. Akihiko replaced the book and returned to the entryway, making one last survey of the flat.

It wasn't that Mitsuru was unorganized. Everything in its place and a place for everything was an appropriate mantra for her home. It was the fact that her fridge had no food in it. Her desk was empty, without a stack of files or reports from work in sight, and her suitcase - the one she would need for a month long vacation, sat empty in her wardrobe.

Akihiko locked the door and quietly stepped into the elevator.

If she had been abducted, her flat might have looked a little more frayed and less prepared. Unless the people who took her were professionals, there would have been food in the fridge, open work on her desk, and maybe, just maybe a smart criminal would have taken the suitcase to support the appearance of a vacation.

"Where did you go?" he murmured, watching the security camera that watched him.

Akihiko felt the stolen phone numbers in his pocket burn into his leg.


	3. Lead Me

 

 

 

**September**

The second envelope arrived just one week after the first.

This time, there were two packets of photos in envelope, each bound by a large elastic band. One pile contained a packet of headshots labelled _buyers_. The second set consisted of headshots labelled _suppliers_.

The buyers, a smattering of Lebanese and Mexican thugs, wore the faces of nondescript and listless mercenaries, terrorists, and cartel lords. A few of the buyers' headshots were marred by red x's.

In contrast, the suppliers wore decidedly more upscale and distant faces. In the middle of the packet of seller's headshots, Mitsuru recognized the face of her Board Treasurer as well as the face of a young man whose photo she had encountered in her fruitless file review of Agua Prieta staff: Eisei Maeda. He was the operations manager of the school with a flawless background in education that Mitsuru now surmised was counterfeit.

Nowhere in the file did she find the face of her current VP of Charitable Giving, which gave her a small comfort.

All three packets of photos pointed to one clear answer. The Kirijo Group had directly funded experiments on children and sold the survivors to merchants of destruction and greed.

On the back of Treasurer Akabe's photo, her anonymous contact had written her a note.

Still listening?

Mitsuru tilted her head as she spread the headshots out on her kitchen counter. She kept the buyers separated from the suppliers, and found her eyes drawn to the photographs without large red x's. Some of the men were smaller, the frames below their neck surely scrawny and tenuous. Other buyers were large, stocky men with heads that seemed to take up every inch of the camera frame.

Mitsuru reached for the portable phone in the corner and dialed a number, her eyes fixed on the photo of a man with tattoos spiraling around his neck like a snake.

"Yo?"

"Morino-san," Mitsuru readied herself. "It's Mitsuru Kirijo."

"KIRIJO-SAAAAAN!" Her personal trainer squealed. Expecting this, Mitsuru jerked the receiver away from her head at just the right moment. She rolled her eyes with a wry smile.

Mitsuru sometimes wondered if Tadao Morino was in fact two separate people. In the gym, he was a glorified drill sergeant. Disciplined, professional, and able to push Mitsuru to her limits, Morino knew when Mitsuru was spent and when she had some fire left in her. Outside of their training sessions, however, Morino was like a child on a permanent sugar high and whose second home was on top of a surfboard. Whenever Mitsuru spoke to him outside of a gym, he made Junpei seem like a wisened monk by comparison.

"You need some help shaving off time on your route?" He barrelled on. "Hey, there's a half marathon in Sapporo this November. You want to start planning a program? Or did you call for a motivational heart-to-heart?"

"No, Morino-san," she responded, her ears still ringing. "I'd like to start a different regimen when we meet this week."

"Changing it up, huh?" He laughed giddily. "All right, all right, I'm flexible. What are you wanting? You know, I was thinking it was about time we got you going on a more intensive core routine-"

"Strength training," Mitsuru said. She raised her eyebrows when she was met with silence.

"Morino-san?"

"Stop," he said, drawing in a dramatic inhale. "Let me enjoy this moment, Kirijo-san. The goddess herself has come to me wanting to lift weights. WEIGHTS, KIRIJO-SAN! You have never been more perfect, more beautiful, more-"

"Can you develop a program for me?" Mitsuru interrupted, her hand coming to rest against a knife handle jutting out of the wooden block on her counter.

"I shall create the perfect weight training for you, my lady. But, my professional duty as your trainer is to first understand what drives you."

Mitsuru smothered a groan as she leaned forward against her countertop.

"So," Tadao continued. "Help me help you. You've been pretty content these last few years with cardio and some core work. Why the sudden interest in picking up weights?"

Mitsuru stared evenly at Eisei Maeda's clean shaven face. His sharp eyes stared listlessly at her from the pile of 'supplier' headshots.

"I'd like to lose a few pounds," she answered simply, removing the knife from the block and lightly levelling the tip of the blade between Maeda's eyes. "Tone my figure."

The line was silent for a moment and Mitsuru overheard the faint sound of a sigh.

"Kirijo-san," Tadao said hesitantly, his tone suddenly serious. "You're perfectly healthy. You're not even close to overweight. You know that, right?"

"Of course," Mitsuru answered amicably.

"I just want to be clear," Tadao continued. "I don't train my clients in any way that might cause them harm. I'll only work you to a few pounds under your current weight. If you want to lose more than that, we'll need to have a heart-to-heart about body composition."

"Let's certainly avoid that," Mitsuru responded.

"I'm so PUMPED, Kirijo-san!"

"I'll see you Friday," she replied before clicking her phone back into the receiver. Mitsuru glanced at the photos again as if baiting the men in the photos to move. She carefully twisted her hair into a ponytail before she crossed her arms and rested against the countertop.

She had fought monsters before, but none so real as the despicable lot laid out before her. If she was going to go after these men, Mitsuru would need more than her fencing skills to take them out.

Mitsuru straightened the photos into a neat pile and returned them to the manilla envelope.

* * *

"Hey senpai."

Mitsuru smiled into her office phone as Chihiro began passing her documents awaiting signature.

"Good morning, Yukari. Were you able to reach Aigis?"

"Yeah, she's finally back from Bhutan. I still think she's nuts for going by herself - and I know, I know, she's a lean, mean, fighting machine."

"She's been traveling a lot by herself lately," Mitsuru observed. "Perhaps you should join her next time?"

"Depends on where she goes, I guess," Yukari laughed. "Speaking of - Are we still on for next month?"

"Of course," Mitsuru said smoothly, her stomach dropping as she pressed pen into the paper. In truth, she had been too consumed with the company and researching the trafficking activities in Mexico and Lebanon to remember their annual trip to Paris. She'd need Chihiro and Yukari to take care of the details.

"Yukari, would you mind reaching out to Iori, Aigis, and Yamagishi?" Mitsuru asked. "Tell them I won't accept any excuses if they try to get out of coming."

"Sure thing. As long as Junpei can bring Chidori, I don't think it should be a problem. Koromaru can manage without them for a while."

"Of course. I'll reach out to Amada this week, though he will most likely be pre-occupied with his studies."

"Doesn't that count as an excuse?"

"Absolutely not."

"We should do something fun - Everyone is so serious now. Except you. . . You're just as serious as ever," Yukari teased.

Mitsuru raised her eyebrows as she scratched her signature into the last of the files and nodded to Chihiro.

"Yes, well, with that in mind I'll leave the fun to you and the others."

"Senpai. . . I was thinking. . ."

"Go on," Mitsuru said, scanning her inbox quickly.

"Do you, um. . . would you like me to invite. . ."

Mitsuru pulled in a deep inhale and Yukari immediately backtracked.

"Sorry. Stupid, stupid suggestion."

"It's all right," Mitsuru replied calmly. "Akihiko and I are both adults, Yukari. It's a wonderful idea. Would you please extend the invitation to him?"

Yukari fell silent.

"I should probably let you go," she said quietly at length. "Let's do dinner this week? Please, nowhere where I have to wear black."

The residual sadness in her eyes prevented Mitsuru from smiling.

"Understood. Enjoy your day, Yukari."

"Bye, senpai."

Mitsuru had a strong feeling that Yukari wouldn't invite him, but the idea of seeing Akihiko again both terrified and excited her. Throughout the day, Mitsuru found herself imagining frivolous scenarios where they met again in Paris. She would take him to her favorite patisserie and Akihiko would decline every sugary taste. They'd see Brazilian capoeira as they walked down the streets and Akihiko would secretly be impressed while critiquing the functionality of the art form.

They would finally talk about their separation and both would admit to their mistakes and promise to find a way forward. They would be together with their friends again and the pain from the years apart would slowly ebb and die.

Fantasies.

Mitsuru glanced at her wristwatch after noticing the setting sun and prepared to leave. Tonight was her first session with Tadao, and she fully intended to maximize every minute.

Even if Yukari invited Akihiko, Mitsuru thought as she left the building, she knew he wouldn't attend their gathering. The dreams of reconciliation needed to end, Mitsuru scolded herself. Right now, it was only her and the dire task set out before her.

As she left company headquarters, Mitsuru saw her driver and began to approach her vehicle when she overheard him driver conversing with another person.

"Awful shame about those children," her driver said.

Mitsuru stepped behind a nearby pillar and turned her head to listen.

The other individual hummed in agreement.

"The saddest part is, you know the Lebanese government won't do anything to stop these extremists," they said. "No one is going to help those poor children."

Mitsuru emerged from her hiding place and was met with a low bow by her driver. When she arrived home, she did not turn on the news nor did she make notes for Chihiro to pull data on Al Boutul.

Instead, she went to her laptop and pulled up the last received email from her anonymous contact.

_Finished listening. Lead me._

* * *

_"This is absurd."_

_Akihiko simply raised his eyebrows at her as he wound the hand-wraps over her fingers. Mitsuru looked down at her splayed out hands and shook her head softly in disapproval. Akihiko scoffed softly but didn't respond to her attempts to dissuade him. Her hands were too delicate for her ever to be a boxer, he decided. But that didn't mean that she couldn't benefit from learning a few tricks._

_It wasn't that Mitsuru was weak or couldn't hold her own in a fight. It was just that her style of fighting was elaborate, an art form where Mitsuru lended her grace and strength to a sword. That was the problem. A shadow might be weak against a slash, but a trained fighter could navigate the attacks._

_"You think a lot of things are absurd," Akihiko responded. "Especially practical things like escape tactics and paper towels."_

_"Those_ are _wasteful," Mitsuru balked. "And so is this. I'm perfectly able to-"_

_"Take care of yourself, I know. We all know," Akihiko stepped back, his hands crossed over his chest as he stared back at her. Mitsuru tilted her head, hands on her hips as she fixed him with a haughty glare._

_The Sunday morning light was filtering in through the bay window when they had pushed the furniture in the living room against the walls of her flat. They had enough space to move around here, even though Akihiko would have preferred a gym with mats._

_"But you can't just carry a rapier around with you all day. Your hands and feet are your first and best line of self-defense."_

_"I might be more productive if I carried a rapier with me," Mitsuru thought aloud airily._

_"We're not messing around here, Mitsuru," Akihiko chided, stepping closer to her. "You asked me what it would take to get me off your back about this bodyguard business and this was the deal. Remember?"_

_"Very well," Mitsuru sighed. "Let's proceed."_

_"All right," Akihiko said, stepping into his stance. "I'm going to try and attack you from behind. React before you look. Whatever side you feel my thumb, that's where I'm attacking from. Got it?"_

_"Got it."_

_"Where am I?" He pushed his thumb into her shoulder blade._

_"Outside," Mitsuru responded. Akihiko moved his hand to her other shoulder, and pushed his thumb into the muscle just below her neck._

_"And now?"_

_She stepped back and drove her arm suddenly into his solar plexus, clearly signalling that she was aware he was coming at her for an inside attack. Akihiko doubled over in surprise and staggered back. As he moved to stand up, Mitsuru spun around and slapped his neck forcefully. Stunned, Akihiko dropped to the ground._

_"When exactly will I need to wrap my hands?" Mitsuru asked as she looked down at him. She held up her hands for reference and Akihiko kept his eyes and his breathing calm. "When I leave the house in the morning? Or do I excuse myself for a moment as I'm being attack-"_

_He swept under her legs and quickly rolled Mitsuru on to her stomach before twisting her arm against her back and pinning her down to the floor._

_"Not bad," Akihiko said appreciatively, taking just a moment to catch his breath as he gingerly touched the burning spot on his neck. "Right in the carotid artery. A lot of women make the mistake of trying to punch a guy in the chest."_

_He felt Mitsuru try and throw him off with some aggravation and Akihiko gave her arm a slight twist and elicited an angry sigh._

_"You don't get to stand over me and gloat, rich girl," Akihiko said, standing up quickly and offering Mitsuru his arm. "You get free and you run."_

_She rolled over serenely and captured his arm while fixing him with a soft gaze. Akihiko hitched on the warmth in Mitsuru's eyes for a moment too long, and let out a grunt as Mitsuru pulled down quickly on his arm, extended her leg into his gut, and rolled him onto his back. She wedged her elbow into his windpipe, slightly breathless._

_"No gloating. Understood," Mitsuru responded._

_"Forgetting something?" Akihiko choked. Mitsuru frowned and looked down just as Akihiko braced his arms against her shoulders, raised his hips, and rolled her over so that she was back onto her stomach. This time, he pinned both of her arms against her back._

_"And the hand wraps aren't for protection," Akihiko pointed out, eliciting another, more exasperated groan from Mitsuru. "They're to keep your fingers in the shape of a fist."_

_Mitsuru didn't try and throw him off this time, and Akihiko stood up sharply before backing away and rolling his head side to side._

_"Just run, Mitsuru," Akihiko repeated seriously. "Don't stick around to teach anyone a lesson."_

_Mitsuru rolled onto her back, cradling her arm with a wince._

_"I prefer the sabre," she said sorely. Akihiko shrugged nonchalantly as he took a sip of water._

_"Say that to me when you disable someone twice your size."_

* * *

**December**

Looking back, Akihiko realized his push for the self-defense lessons were more for him, and less for Mitsuru. She had done it, anyway.

The gauzy blue twilight filtered in through his small bedroom window as Akihiko laid on his bed, arms crossed behind his head. He stared up at the dull white of his ceiling, his stomach aching from hunger. Akihiko closed his eyes, trying to put some distance between the growing anxiety in his chest.

This gnawing feeling of being unable to stop harm from happening to the people he cared about had not ebbed since high school, but he'd at least learned to cope with it. When he was with Mitsuru, the fear had only amplified. All the arguments about Mitsuru needing a bodyguard and more training boiled down to Akihiko needing some small amount of peace against the worst-case scenarios that plagued his mind.

The buzzing of his phone on the nightstand elicited a small sigh. Akihiko picked up the phone and scowled at the number in disbelief.

"Hey," Akihiko answered, sitting up quickly. "It's been a while."

"It really has," Yukari hesitated on the other line. "Look, Fuuka told me she came to you about Mitsuru-senpai."

"She did," he responded, rubbing his eyes.

"Have you. . . found anything?"

Akihiko swung his legs over this bed and stood up with a small sigh.

"A couple of phone numbers, but nothing huge," he walked to his window and drew the blinds to let in the morning light. "Are you in Paris?"

"We just got in," Yukari responded, somewhat breathless. Akihiko distinguished the sounds of pedestrians and traffic behind her voice. "Junpei will be here at the end of the week. We let ourselves into senpai's flat."

"What did you find?"

"Nothing yet," Yukari sighed dismally. "It's just as spotless as her place in Port Island and honestly, it looks just like it did when we were here in October."

"Well, keep looking," Akihiko said simply, putting on a light jacket. "No one disappears without leaving a trail."

Akihiko heard the sound of a door slamming on the other line as he waited for Yukari to respond.

"Senpai. . ." she said wearily. "I'm sorry I told the others to keep this from you. It's just that, well, these last few years-"

"We can talk about that when I get there."

"Y-You're coming here?"

"I need to talk to each of you about your interactions with Mitsuru before she disappeared. You might have some valuable information and not know it," Akihiko reached into his fridge and pulled out a protein shake while Yukari remained silent on the other end.

Akihiko released a silent sigh, closing his eyes in thought.

"Yukari?"

"Yes?"

"It's good to hear your voice."

". . . You too, senpai."

* * *

"Can I have your autograph?"

Tadao Morino greeted Akihiko outside of a small cafe that was far removed from Akihiko's station. He didn't need any run-ins with his co-workers or God forbid, Captain Kurosawa, while he was unofficially interviewing people.

"Uh-" Akihiko awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

"Seriously, you were awesome in Portugal two years ago. Two hits and that guy was OUT! My buddies and I couldn't believe it-"

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

"Yeah, of course. But I have to say I was pretty surprised when you called me. Guys like you don't need personal training. You're a professional athlete."

"I'm recovering from a shoulder injury," Akihiko explained smoothly. "I need to adapt my training regimen and could use some professional advice."

It wasn't a lie, exactly. He had thrown his left shoulder out a few months ago during a charity match between police and fire. Akihiko had been doing a few stretches and strength building with his left arm, but was still had some work to do before he could fully recover.

"I'm flattered Kirijo-san recommended me," Tadao said with a nod.

"Can you tell me a little bit more about your experience with her? She said she really liked your write-ups."

Tadao looked puzzled for a moment before something seemed to click in his mind.

"She must have been referring to before September. We worked her endurance and flexibility mostly, tried to up the cardio. I'm guessing you're already doing that for your recovery, though."

"What happened in September?"

"Oh, it wouldn't make any sense for you with a shoulder injury. She asked me to start a weight training program for her."

"Weight training?"

Akihiko was not expecting that. Mitsuru was strong, but she had outright refused to lift weights with Akihiko when the worked out together. She found the routines too lowbrow for her refined sense of fitness.

He was far too overwhelmed with disbelief to scoff at the memory.

"I know, right?!" Tadao responded with a laugh. "My female clients usually shy away from picking up weights, but Kirijo-san was dead-set on it."

"Did she say why? Just curious."

Tadao bobbed his head with a shrug.

"You know women, man. They always want to lose weight. Kirijo-san said she wanted to drop a few pounds."

"Was she overweight, in your professional opinion?" Akihiko asked, doing his best to veil his bewilderment.

Tadao laughed nervously.

"Sorry, but now you've got my interest piqued as a boxer. I don't get to talk fitness with professionals much these days."

"Not at all overweight," Tadao explained. "And I told her that, but I wasn't going to try and talk her out of getting stronger. I made it clear I would support healthy weight loss as long as it was minimal."

"How long has she been lifting?" Akihiko phrased his question carefully.

"Only had a month with her, unfortunately. Got a message from her assistant that she wouldn't be able to make any training appointments for the indefinite future. It's nice to hear she still remembers me."

"When was that?"

"Uh, October I think? Anyway, did you want to talk about some ideas for recovery?"

"Definitely. Just indulge me on one more thing - How much was she lifting?"

"About 34 kg when we started. Had her at about 100 the last time I worked with her," Tadao responded proudly.

"That's pretty ambitious for a month."

Tadao grinned.

"Well, it _is_ Mitsuru Kirijo we're talking about."

* * *

Chihiro Fushimi was less enthusiastic when she greeted Akihiko outside of Iwatodai Station. Akihiko had left a message on her voicemail saying that he heard someone mention her name and wanted to see if she might like catch up.

Chihiro had called him back and agreed to meet, but she clearly hadn't bought the excuse.

"You're here to talk about Kirijo-san."

Akihiko carefully checked their surroundings.

"See anyone from the company here?"

Chihiro furtively scanned the crowd.

* * *

They walked to the local library where Chihiro led Akihiko to a secluded area behind the stacks.

"I like to come here to be alone," she offered nervously, sensing Akihiko's unease. "No one will bother us here."

They faced each other uncomfortably for a moment before Akihiko blurted out the question he had spent hours planning around.

"Fushimi, where is Mitsuru?"

Chihiro blinked behind her spectacles before dejectedly falling back against the shelves behind her.

"So you don't know either. . ." She murmured, crestfallen.

Akihiko's features hardened into a scowl.

"I don't understand," Akihiko said. "You think I know something? Aren't you the one who's been calling her personal contacts and telling them she's on vacation?"

The color drained from Chihiro's face.

"It's what she told me to do," she whispered, suddenly sounding panicked. "If you don't know, then. . ."

Akihiko gaped at Chihiro for a moment, feeling as though he'd just been clocked over the head by someone three times his size.

"Mitsuru told you herself that she was going on vacation," he repeated severely. Chihiro brought a finger to her lips harshly, reminding him to be quiet.

"Are you sure?" Akihiko growled, lowering his tone.

"I thought it was odd," Chihiro rushed. "Because she had just returned from Paris. I didn't ask because she, well she has so much vacation saved but never takes it, I- I just thought she was stressed and needed more time-"

"Did she give you any hint about where she was going? Think, Fushimi. She must have given you some information."

"I asked," Chihiro insisted. "I asked her where I needed to book the flight to and if there was a hotel she preferred, but Kirijo-san just told me that she would take care of those things. Please believe me - the Board keeps asking the same question."

Akihiko instinctively flinched at the mention of the Kirijo Board.

"The Board, huh?"

The period of time where they had turned the heat up on Mitsuru about enlisting security detail made it easy for Akihiko to picture each of the members putting pressure on an already strained Fushimi. Those old men thought they could control anyone and anything, never mind that there were stakeholders, partners, and a CEO to consider - all equally invested and able to fight for the livelihood of the company.

"It's non-stop, Sanada-san. They're desperate to find her and I get interrogated almost every day about if I've seen anyone enter her apartment or seen any movement on her accounts-"

So the Kirijo Group was watching her apartment.

"You saw me and the others enter Mitsuru's apartment, didn't you?"

Akihiko watched Chihiro swallow a knot in her throat.

"The members saw it," Chihiro responded. "They're not coming after you or your friends, at least I don't think so. I think they're trying to contain the situation. If they brought in any of Kirijo-san's friends, I think they know Captain Kurosawa would personally get involved. It would open too many doors."

"How do you know the Board isn't responsible for her disappearance, Fushimi? Are you sure Mitsuru told you she was leaving and not anyone else?"

"Kirijo-san told me herself, I'm sure of it. The Board is in total chaos, Sanada-san. Everyone is pulling their hair out to find Kirijo-san. They wanted me to freeze her personal accounts, but her holdings had already been liquidated or transferred to another financial institution. She hasn't used any of the company's resources - no plane, no cars, not even her personal driver. Publically, they're backing up the vacation story, but I just don't think they know anything. I've never seen them act like this before."

"When did she leave? Give me a date, Fushimi."

"October 15th," Chihiro said readily. "It was two days after she came back from Paris."

"Did you check the surveillance footage from her apartment complex for that day?"

"By the time we started to get worried and looked, it had already been deleted," Chihiro said, flushed with agitation.

Akihiko sucked in a deep breath as he turned to face the stacks of books. He braced his hands against the frame and tried to to level his breathing. He had to focus on what he knew - not what he felt. At this moment, he knew two things for certain: Mitsuru had been training to become stronger and Mitsuru had wanted the appearance that she was taking time off.

"Fushimi," Akihiko said quietly to the books. "I don't care what you have to do to keep this undetected, but I need information."

Akihiko turned around to face her, his composure slowly returning to him.

"I need you to lead me through every file she handled, every person she spoke to, and every appointment on her calendar up to October 15th."


	4. Paris Rendezvous: Part 1

**October**

Mitsuru stood next to the black car parked outside of the airport terminal while her driver waited inside.

She glanced down at her watch before she smoothed over the sleeves of her black turtleneck before crossing her arms against her chest. The summer heat was releasing its hold over Paris, and a noticeable chill was beginning to creep over the city. Having arrived several days before her friends, Mitsuru had offered to collect the Ioris from the airport so that the others could rest from their long journeys.

Her friends' busy schedules allowed the group just the long weekend together in Paris. Rather than lament the shortness of their time together, Mitsuru planned on cherishing every moment of her time with the attending members of S.E.E.S.

Even though Mitsuru's anonymous contact had yet to respond to her less than explicit request to meet, it was possible they could reach out at any moment. Mitsuru had prepared herself by using the last several weeks to immerse herself into the files she had lifted from company records. In an attempt to find a starting point to launch her attack, Mitsuru had memorized the faces and names found in the packet of photos. Her training sessions with Morino were resulting in a leaner and stronger frame and she'd kept her endurance up by sparring with some of her most worthy fencing opponents.

She smothered a sigh as she looked down at her watch again.

Mitsuru's readiness for battle made her impatience all the more poignant. She could only hope that her anonymous tipster would invite her into the fold soon.

"Senpai! Over here!"

Mitsuru lifted her head and spotted Iori, waving furiously at her with a wide grin. His long and gangly were tucked around two heavy suitcases and beside him, Chidori wore a simple white summer dress complete with a flowery headband. Mitsuru felt a smile spread across her face as the couple approached and Junpei dropped the bags to give Mitsuru a warm embrace.

Mitsuru returned the hug firmly.

"Man, I'm beat!" Junpei moaned. "I didn't get a wink of sleep on that plane!"

Mitsuru froze as Chidori surprised her with a restrained hug.

Iori's wife had been reticent to join them during their first few trips to Paris, but gradually her recalcitrant nature had thawed. Increasingly, she joined her husband and his friends as they explored Parisian culture, and in recent years she had even began to join Mitsuru and the others as they ventured into art museums while Iori diverted himself with other activities.

"Junpei snored the entire flight."

"Did not!" Iori exclaimed, scandalized.

"The flight attendant had to reseat the person next to you."

Mitsuru smirked as her driver took the Iori's baggage and opened the backseat door for the couple. Junpei guided his wife into the car before gratefully climbing in behind her.

"The others are resting at the flat," said Mitsuru, nodding to her driver as he opened the passenger side door for her.

"I'm sure you'd like to do the same before dinner tonight."

* * *

Even without a full cohort, S.E.E.S. reunions were always lively affairs.

When she returned with the Ioris, Mitsuru relished in the jubilant light of her friends as they chattered, laughed, and embraced each other. Aigis handed out individually selected prayer flags from Bhutan while Fuuka immediately found her laptop and began searching for dinner locations.

Mitsuru silently hung back near her balcony, watching the happy expressions on her friend's faces. A part of her ached to share with them the secret trial she faced, but Mitsuru quickly hushed the urge.

They weren't fighting shadows anymore. This time humans were the enemy, and therein a larger threat loomed. Her friends had families, careers, and personal lives now so asking for their help was out of the question. It was Mitsuru who was to blame for what was happening in the Kirijo-funded schools. She would not share this duty, especially when their lives could be put in jeopardy.

"Will someone please make sure Junpei doesn't eat any more _les madeleines_?" Yukari rolled her eyes as she sat down next to Fuuka on the sofa.

"She's right. You've had plenty, Junpei," Chidori said, removing a box of cookies from Junpei's lap.

"I can't help it!" Junpei wailed. "I dream about those things all year long and when I finally get here I can't control myself!"

Mitsuru smiled wryly at Iori, but said nothing. She could command a board meeting, send her subordinates into a panic with a mere look, and whip entire departments into shape with a two-line email subject, but she still could not get Iori to lower his voice.

"There's a new crêperie nearby," Fuuka said, her fingers dancing over the keyboard of her laptop. "They serve sweet and savory crêpes."

"Let's make Mitsuru-senpai decide," Yukari giggled. "She's going to end up ordering for all of us anyway since none of us speak French."

Mitsuru blushed as all eyes turned to her.

"Actually, I thought we could make dinner here tonight."

Fuuka suddenly looked faint and Mitsuru couldn't contain her laughter.

"Don't worry," she reassured, speaking to Fuuka. "I was only suggesting that I call in my chef. She can make anything we like."

"Pizza!" Junpei said, launching up from his seat. Yukari groaned while Chidori looked on at her husband listlessly.

"We're in _Paris_. Can we please have something French?" Yukari countered. "Gratin or Pâté?"

"Yuck! I hate that stuff," Junpei shuddered. Chidori made a face that seemed to echo this sentiment.

"I would like pizza as well," Aigis chimed in from the kitchen.

"Traitor!" Yukari gasped, throwing a pillow at the blonde-haired mechanical maiden. Aigis stoically caught it in her arms.

"YES! Ai-Chan with the assist!" Junpei squealed.

"I think I have a solution," Mitsuru said, crossing her arms. "Let's have Tarte Flambée, but I'll request that the chef bake it on a pizza stone. It's French and it's pizza. What do you think?"

The room was silent for a moment before Fuuka came alive with giggling.

"The CEO has spoken," Aigis said calmly.

Mitsuru's flat was filled with laughter.

* * *

The dinner, rowdy for Parisian standards, was a complete success.

Afterward, Mitsuru was at the market with Fuuka and Aigis collecting a few household items when she received the text. Aigis was prodding Fuuka to explain the difference between quilted and non-quilted toilet paper as Mitsuru stared at her phone.

_Paris is lovely this time of year, yes? Poco Hermasillo has an excellent dessert menu._

A stabbing combination of both dread and relief filled her stomach. At last, someone was contacting her to meet, but Mitsuru still wasn't sure if this person was friend or foe. She might be in over her head.

"Mitsuru-san?" Aigis' concerned voice made Mitsuru jump.

"Y-Yes, what is it?"

The two young women blinked back at her, worried.

"Which do you prefer?" Aigis repeated her question.

"I apologize. Either is fine. Please excuse me," Mitsuru murmured, quickly exiting the store to the sidewalk.

_When?_

Mitsuru looked up as she felt raindrops fall onto her face. One by one, the pedestrians walking past her began to open their umbrellas. Only a few moments passed before she received a response.

 _At your leisure. Take the Line 4 metro and disembark at_ _Château_ _Rouge. Come alone. Text this number when you leave and someone will meet you at the station._

The rain began to thicken and Mitsuru eyes became unfocused on the cell phone screen. If she had to confront someone, was she strong enough to take them on by herself? Mitsuru was just see results with Tadao's training. She needed more time to build up her strength.

Would her persona be of help in an attack? Mitsuru didn't need her evoker to summon Artemesia, but Mitsuru was starting to regret not bringing it as a precaution.

Worse than a surprise attack, if something happened to her, her friends might come looking for her and inadvertently make targets of themselves. If Mitsuru was walking into a trap, she was strong enough to at least have a fighting chance, but if her friends followed her. . .

"Something has happened."

Startled, Mitsuru looked up to meet Aigis' piercing blue eyes.

"No, I-" she took a deep breath before slipping her phone back into her purse. "It's nothing. Company business," she said with a tone of finality. Mitsuru offered a smile intended to put Aigis at ease.

Aigis furrowed her eyebrows in response, clearly unconvinced.

"Are you certain everything is all right?"

Mitsuru swallowed with a nod, knowing she appeared just as shaken as she felt.

"Absolutely certain, Aigis. Have you retrieved everything we need?"

Once she returned to the flat with Aigis and Fuuka, Mitsuru bade them goodnight. While her friends slept, Mitsuru stayed awake through the night formulating a plan to cover her trail should something happen. By dawn, she had a bare bones strategy to lead her friends away from danger should the meeting go awry.

Mitsuru would tell the others that she was meeting a business associate in Paris for a last minute dinner, to deal with a sudden and unexpected event. Mitsuru would instruct her driver to take her to a commonly visited upscale dining establishment and, when she dismissed the driver, Mitsuru would go to the nearest metro station. If something happened, the trail would stop at the restaurant, and no one would be put in harm's way.

* * *

"Why?" Yukari asked bluntly.

Chidori had just taken their photo before the group had started deliberating on where to eat dinner when Mitsuru issued the lie that she had spent all night formulating. There was probably a better location to deliver it than the Champs-Élysées, but it was starting to get dark.

The others were staring at her, the same question burning in their eyes.

Mitsuru looked on placidly as Yukari stood across from her, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

"The company has been exploring new partnerships and we've reached a small. . . snag in our acquisition process. I need to regroup with my liasion here. I'm sorry, I was hoping this wouldn't happen."

"Wait a minute. . . are you going on a _date_?" Yukari asked, eyes wide. Mitsuru blushed furiously at the accusation and the smile dropped from her lips.

"Don't be absurd, Yukari-"

"What's his name?" she giggled playfully. "Oh, _please_ tell me he's tall, dark, and French."

Mitsuru shook her head, eyes modestly glued to the street.

"All right! Senpai's gonna score tonight!" Junpei added, raising his fist to the sky in triumph. Chidori silenced him with a quick pinch to his side.

"I assure you, this is nothing but a working dinner between professionals."

Yukari sighed and Mitsuru caught a glance of suspicion in her friend's gaze before she shrugged.

"If you say so. Hope he takes you somewhere nice, senpai."

Mitsuru nodded absently as she drank in the expressions of each of her friends.

Junpei was hugging Chidori tightly against his chest, his eyes contentedly squinted against the setting sun. Fuuka was smiling encouragingly at her while Yukari's wry expression still held a trace of doubt. Her eyes froze upon Aigis who was fixing her with an indiscernible expression. Mitsuru tried to command the muscles in her back and arms to relax into a easy posture, but the task was too difficult.

She wore a smile instead.

"I'll see you tonight," Mitsuru said confidently as her driver pulled up next to her.

* * *

As she sent the text message informing her contact that she was on her way, Mitsuru realized her current attire might draw too much attention in the neighborhood of Château Rouge. She returned to her flat and tried to find something more low-profile to wear before returning to her car and giving her driver directions to a restaurant she frequently visited along the Seine.

Mitsuru watched as her driver disappeared from the vestibule of the restaurant before stepping back outside and securing her hair under a soft, gray beret. She locked her eyes on the entrance to the metro station on the corner and drew a deep, steadying breath.

* * *

Part of her was still the naive high school girl who didn't know there was an entire world of eating with one's hands, sitting in movie theaters, and singing karaoke.

After attending school and living in Paris for several years, Mitsuru was embarrassed that this was her first time taking the Paris Metro. What else had she shut out in her life? Was she really that oblivious to events outside of her sphere of influence? Akihiko inevitably crept into her mind, and Mitsuru wondered if he had actually been miserable their entire relationship and she had simply not noticed.

He really was better off without her.

Even though she was disgusted with her own ignorance, Mitsuru decided that she deserved at least some credit for having the sense to return home to change before taking public transit. Right now, her long sleeved black shirt and beige pants helped her blend in fairly well with the throngs of evening commuters.

Mitsuru stepped out of the subway train and moved with the throngs of people toward the exit. As she emerged from the station exit, Mitsuru was overwhelmed with the surge of vendors and customers chattering loudly in almost every language but French. Mitsuru carefully took in the scene of Plastic Eiffel Towers and French flags around her, doing her best to not appear lost.

She had the sudden sensation that she was being watched. Mitsuru turned over her shoulder and looked up sharply to the steely eyes of a man standing just outside of range of the pop-up stands and tables of merchandise.

The man was the size of a small boulder.

He wore a leather jacket and Mitsuru was amused by how impossibly small it looked on him. The soft black hat on his head seemed to absorb the gauzy light from the streetlamps and Mitsuru sensed if he weren't scowling, his face would bear the creases of a permanent frown anyway.

Mitsuru approached him with squared shoulders and noticed the faint blue hue of a Virgin Mary tattoo poking out from the opening of his shirt.

They spent a moment sizing each other up, and just when Mitsuru thought he might say something, he turned away from her and began walking down the sidewalk.

She followed a short distance behind him.

* * *

" _You're off your patrol route, Sergeant," Kurosawa said as he quietly shut the hospital room door behind him._

" _I decided to take an early lunch, sir."_

_Akihiko didn't slow his brisk approach until Kurosawa sidestepped into his path with a wide stance and crossed arms._

" _If I needed you here, Sergeant, you would have been called."_

_Akihiko balled his fists in response as the adrenaline surged like electricity through his veins. Kurosawa lifted his chin slightly and pinned Akihiko to floor with his stare._

" _Take a deep breath before you say anything else to me, Sanada."_

_Akihiko blanched at Kurosawa's words and severed the intense gaze with his commanding officer with a physical step back. The cooling effect was instantaneous as Akihiko gently shook the excess energy out and let out a silent sigh._

" _I'm sorry, Captain. It's just-"_

" _Don't worry about it, Sanada. We've all been there at one time or another. I just wish you hadn't found out so quickly."_

" _Noriyama told me they brought in three guys on charges related to kidnapping. It wasn't long before he mentioned that Mitsuru Kirijo was the target," Akihiko exhaled and suddenly grew taut with fear._

" _Can I. . ." Akihiko was looking at the door just beyond Kurosawa._

" _Question her?" Kurosawa suggested, only half joking._

" _If I just had more information, I could-" Akihiko said quickly._

" _The answer is no, Sanada, especially since she's just endured that from both myself and the Kirijo Company Board Chair," Kurosawa paused before continuing._

" _Like I said: I would have called you if I needed you here. Right now, this one's outside your rank. You're going to have to let it go, Sergeant."_

_Akihiko let out a low growl in frustration before letting his head fall back against his shoulders._

" _Look, Captain - I just," he started, the taste of defeat rancid in his mouth. "Just tell me she's okay and I'll leave."_

_Something relaxed in Kurosawa's posture, but the senior officer didn't relinquish his position between Akihiko and the door._

" _They cornered her pretty quickly, so she had to make a hard turn on her motorcycle. Minor road rash, otherwise fine. No one ever accused you kids of being unlucky," Kurosawa grumbled as he uncrossed his arms and straightened his cap._

" _Well, there's that, at least," Akihiko breathed._

_Mitsuru was no stranger to getting hurt, but Akihiko was glad to hear it was at least minor and nothing life-threatening. Still there was a spate of questions jamming his thought process. Where had this all happened? What did these men want with Mitsuru? Why hadn't she reached out to him? He'd had to find out from his fellow officers that she was in the hospital._

" _When is she being released?"_

_Kurosawa quirked an eyebrow._

" _In about five minutes, I'd say. Once she's finished being lectured by the nurse about getting rid of the motorcycle."_

" _Boy, I'd love to see that," Akihiko muttered in jest, even though he still wasn't entirely at ease. Kurosawa's lips flickered for a moment before he cleared his throat and stepped past Akihiko._

" _Well, since you're taking an early lunch, why don't you make sure she gets home all right? I'm sure she'd appreciate some friendly company after the morning she's had."_

" _Captain. . ." Akihiko replied, stunned.._

" _I don't care what your relationship with Mitsuru Kirijo is, Sanada," Kurosawa replied, turning back to face Akihiko expressionlessly. "But do_ not _enter that room as a police officer. Understood?"_

_Akihiko nodded sternly._

" _Yes, sir."_

_Without another word, Kurosawa left Akihiko standing outside of Mitsuru's hospital room. Once the sound of the Captain's clean and even footsteps had vanished entirely, Akihiko gave himself a moment to silence the barrage of questions forming on the tip of his tongue._

_At the door, he could heard the escalated sound of a woman's voice. He knocked gently at the door and, after getting no response, Akihiko slowly twisted the doorknob._

" _Do you have any idea how many mangled motorcycle victims pass through those very doors-"_

_The nurse was pointing directly at Akihiko. He glanced quickly over to Mitsuru and felt a rush of relief fill him as she looked over to him from her seat on the hospital bed. Apart from a few scrapes on her cheek and the obvious fatigue, she appeared fine. Akihiko smiled grimly. Mitsuru Kirijo could wear even minor injuries with grace._

_Mitsuru instantly returned his smile, but it was tepid and short-lived. She quickly looked away from him, her cheeks flushing with what Akihiko read as fatigue and embarrassment. After being interrogated and admonished by three different people, Akihiko wondered if Mitsuru thought he was here to do the same._

_He felt a flood of shame as recalled his earlier urge to do just that. Back when they were teenagers fighting shadows, Akihiko would have never scolded Mitsuru or try to force information out of her. Scolding had in fact been Mitsuru's expertise when they were in High School, not that Akihiko was ever really bothered by it. For a moment, Akihiko was too stunned by the drastic difference between the man he was now and the cocky (well, cockier) scrap of a kid he used to be, that he scarcely noticed when the nurse turned her sights on him._

" _May I_ help _you, Officer?" The nurse demanded._

_For a moment, Akihiko couldn't believe that this nurse had the gall to talk to Mitsuru Kirijo with such disregard for Mitsuru's status as an internationally esteemed CEO. Then he remembered his own line of work where there was no such thing as treading lightly with those who skirted disaster. Mitsuru most likely understood that or simply had too much respect for this woman's position to put up much of a fight._

_Akihiko looked back to Mitsuru to find her eyes downcast to the floor. The urge to press her with questions about the attempt on her life this morning had completely disappeared. Now, he just wanted to get her out of here._

" _Madame President," Akihiko announced robustly, swinging the door open._

" _I'm here to escort you home."_

_Mitsuru looked up, and Akihiko was stung by the sudden relief in her eyes._

* * *

**December**

Even though the number he'd found in Mitsuru's closet had been a dead end, Akihiko had secured the scrap of paper in the pocket of his suit coat. The non-working number had a Parisian area code, so there was no reason not to try the number again once he landed.

Akihiko stared out of the airplane window at the pitch black night sky while the passengers around him dozed. They were only three hours into the flight service, and Akihiko was already stir crazy. He had a headache from reading and re-reading the slips of notebook paper on his tray table and needed more coffee to refocus his efforts.

Chihiro's precise handwritten notes were tidy, but had been written in a panic. Unless he wanted the Kirijo Group tailing him and the others, he'd have to make it work. Accessing the information electronically would only make trouble for Fushimi and Akihiko had to think carefully before setting Yamagishi to the task of hacking into the Kirijo Company's files. They were no doubt watching the surveillance footage in Mitsuru's Parisian home base, but somehow the distance gave Akihiko some small comfort.

His flight finally landed as the sun rose. When he stepped into the frigid winter haze of Paris, Akihiko was so blindsided by fatigue that he nearly clocked Aigis over the head in self-defense when she rushed into him outside the airport terminal.

"I'm so glad you are here," Aigis said, her voice thrumming against Akihiko's skull as she compressed Akihiko into a suffocating hug. "Thank you for coming, Akihiko-san."

Tired, frustrated, and utterly helpless, Akihiko did his best to match the strength of Aigis' embrace.

* * *

Walking into Mitsuru's flat in Paris was more unsettling than exploring her abandoned Port Island town home.

To lend to the cutting absence of their senpai, the group was somber and no one was sitting too close to each other. They greeted Akihiko as though he was walking in late to a funeral. The only relief was Iori who was snoring so loudly on Mitsuru's sofa that Akihiko realized the noisy pipes he thought he had heard on his way in were actually the sounds of jet-lag.

"He's been like that for six hours," Yukari commented mirthlessly as a way of greeting her senpai. The dark circles under her eyes told Akihiko she had probably slept less than that since arriving a week ago. He acknowledged Fuuka with a grunt and immediately noted by her weak smile that she wasn't much better off.

Akihiko looked around at the three women and frowned in disapproval. Before he realized it, he was chastising.

"When was the last time any of you got a decent night's sleep?" Akihiko rasped, eyes narrowing in on Yukari.

Akihiko was ready to take on a few disgruntled comrades, but Yukari's voracious response was practically spring-loaded.

"Oh, _I'm sorry,_ senpai. Were we supposed to be relaxing while waiting for Mitsuru-senpai to turn up dead?"

"Yukari-chan!" Fuuka gasped.

Akihiko gazed down at Yukari wearily as she continued on, his indifferent expression adding oil to her fire. He knew this one had been coming, but he wasn't about to have it out here and now, especially when Yukari had already been pushing herself to the point of exhaustion.

"You know, some of us still care about her," Yukari said venomously. "The rest of us, who stood by Mitsuru-senpai after you left, think she's more important than _sleep_. She's more important than some job-"

"Yukari-san, please," Aigis pleaded. "You are upset-"

" _No_ , Aigis," Yukari said, her voice climbing toward a shout. She whipped back around to face Akihiko, who didn't overlook the slight wobble in her step. "Unlike _you_ , senpai, I'm not going to just walk away from her because I'm tired or I'm scared-"

"Please stop, Yukari-chan!" Fuuka exclaimed desperately.

"Why the hell are you here any way?" Yukari snapped, getting right into Akihiko's face and jabbing a finger into his chest.

"Don't _tell_ me you're here because you feel guilty. Because if that's the case, you just turn your Lieutenant ass right back around to Japan and help some stranger find their stereo. There's no room for apathetic wannabe heroes here, Akihiko-senpai."

Akihiko blinked calmly down at his trembling friend. One word from him, any word at all, would send her over the edge.

"Are you finished?" He asked softly.

Yukari's features, which had been stretched with anger during her tirade, suddenly dropped. His comment seemed to knock the wind out of her and Akihiko propelled forward steadily.

"I know when you're not thinking straight, and so does everyone else here," Akihiko's eyes flashed to Aigis before he leveled his eyes down at Yukari. She was starting to shake harder now.

"You need to get some sleep or get some sense knocked into you. Which is it going to be?"

Yukari launched herself at Akihiko in response.

Instead of getting a palm print stamped to his cheek, Akihiko was pleasantly surprised when the pint-sized archer threw a mean left uppercut against his chin. Akihiko fell back against the wall with his hands up as Yukari wound up for her follow-up attack, aimed straight for his gut. Aigis appeared suddenly behind Yukari and pulled her off Akihiko. Yukari pivoted on her heel to strike at Aigis, but was cut short when Aigis planted a strategic knock over her head.

Yukari toppled over, unconscious. Aigis and Akihiko both stretched their arms to catch her as she fell and Akihiko managed to get his arms under her first. He lifted her into his arms with a grunt.

"Looks like you got a little bit of both," he commented dryly, raising his eyebrows to Aigis. "Just like old times, huh?"

"It was wrong of her to say such things," Aigis said remorsefully, taking Yukari effortlessly into her arms. Akihiko dropped his hands to his knees, winded. Sparring was one thing, but letting your friends attack without striking back was a whole other exhausting exercise that Akihiko was unaccustomed to.

"Please forgive her, Akihiko-san," Aigis continued, scanning her friend for any abnormalities. "She has been relentless in her search for Mitsuru-san."

Akihiko followed Aigis into one of the guest rooms and rubbed his chin thoughtfully as Aigis gently positioned Yukari on the bed. Through the window, they could see the snow beginning to fall and together they gathered the covers around Yukari.

"Don't worry," Akihiko said softly as he followed Aigis out of the room and gently closed the door behind them. "This sort of thing. . . it affects people differently. She and I are due for a chat anyway. This at least clears the path to a productive conversation."

Aigis nodded and the two returned to the living room.

They returned and saw that Fuuka was still rooted to her place in the kitchen, trembling and on the verge of tears. Akihiko tried to think of way to assuage the situation and made the mistake of thinking he could crack a joke.

"What do you say, Yamagishi?" he said gruffly, holding out his arms. "You want a shot at me, too?"

His attempt at channeling Shinji's deadpan humor fell flat and Fuuka went from being on the verge of tears to being overwhelmed with sobs. Akihiko made a hasty and guilty retreat as Aigis threatened to sequester Fuuka in a similar manner to Yukari, which only intensified Fuuka's crying. Akihiko sank down into an arm chair overlooking the balcony and watched the thickening snow as Aigis corralled Fuuka into her bedroom.

Meanwhile, Junpei Iori emitted another ground-shaking snore from the sofa.

* * *

Akihiko set up shop in the living room while his friends slept.

Some years ago, Amada had decided it wasn't enough for him to keep his artistic skills to himself and had bought the game Pictionary for the team to play. The competition during the first game was so fierce, that after some intense arguing about the nature of the 'no talking' rule, the group had spent hours appropriately not speaking to each other, with the general mood particularly sour toward Amada for even introducing the game.

Aigis had finally brought the team together, by painfully introducing a communication exercise she had discovered called the 'peace circle' where they would pass around a 'talking stick' which was really a decorative sword Mitsuru kept over her mantle. Not exactly the best symbol to use when negotiating peace talks.

The first person to use the talking stick was Amada, who apologized profusely for overestimating the artistic talents of his senpai.

His smile had been contagious and the group had broken into laughter and continued their commiseration of their poor drawing skills and terrible ability at following rules over wine and chocolate pastries.

Mitsuru had made a solemn vow to the group that the drawing paper would never again see the light of day.

As Akihiko stared at the large sheets of paper, he couldn't help but smile ironically. One house rule broken, just about a million more to go.

He began to draw an outline of what he knew and combined it as best he could with Fushimi's pandemonious notes. In the center of the sheet of paper, he wrote Mitsuru's name and circled it. Around Mitsuru's name, he carved out several small circles and labeled them: Weight Training, Vacation, Kirijo Company Board, School Files, and Paris.

Akihiko stepped back from the easel and rubbed his eyes. He could use some fresh air. Outside, the snow was finally slowing to a halt and the already dim winter light was fading. Akihiko stepped outside to the balcony and leaned over the rail. Being here was like being trapped in a strange dream. He hadn't exactly been the best about staying in touch with the others after he and Mitsuru had split up. Somewhere in his mind, Akihiko realized he had told himself that the divide was mutual. His friends wouldn't want to be friends with the guy who dumped Mitsuru Kirijo.

It was a comfortable lie he told himself: A lie that made it easier to be apart from his friends because being around the others only reminded him of what he gave up.

"Buy you a drink, senpai?"

Akihiko looked over his shoulder as Yukari pressed a cool protein drink against the crook of his neck. Akihiko chuckled and looked up to her with a faint smile. The dark circles under her eyes seemed fainter, but she was still very pale.

"Thanks," he said, taking the drink and opening it. Yukari found a small stool nearby and pulled it up next to Akihiko's spot against the railing. Even though she was still bundled in the blankets that Akihiko and Aigis and wrapped around her, Akihiko offered her his coat.

"How do you feel?" Akihiko asked, squinting his eyes against the cold as he gingerly sipped his drink.

"Crappy," Yukari responded groggily. "Sorry about. . . well, all of that, senpai. I don't remember much except that I was a real piece of work back there."

"I get it, "Akihiko chuckled.

A momentary pause fell between them.

"You do, don't you?" Yukari said gently. Akihiko turned to her blankly as she smiled.

"This is your life. Helping people. . . using your strength to keep people safe, help them figure things out even when they're total jerks to you. I regret not calling you the second we knew she was missing."

Akihiko made a disgruntled hum in response.

"I know you want answers, Yukari. But you have to understand something about Mitsuru and I-"

"Look, senpai. I know it's none of my business what happened between you guys, but what I want to know why you couldn't at least _talk_ to her. Don't get me wrong - I'm just as pissed off at her for letting you walk out without doing the same. If you were so unhappy, though why was it so hard to just-"

"I wasn't unhappy," Akihiko said sharply. Frustrated, he folded himself on the railing and rested his chin on his arms in silence. If he could just avoid this conversation for just a bit longer.

"So what, then?" Yukari asked softly. "You don't have to answer to me, senpai. But when you find Mitsuru-senpai, you do need to tell her. Promise?"

Akihiko sighed in response and Yukari stood up and nudged Akihiko's calf with her foot.

"Promise me."

"Yeah," Akihiko said, standing up straight. "I will. I promise."

Yukari smiled brightly in response.

"Are we good, senpai?"

Akihiko scoffed gently, crossing his arms.

"We were always good, Yukari."

"Good," Yukari said, stretching. "Let's go inside. Now that we have one of our senpai here, we can figure out what we actually need to _do_."

Akihiko nodded in agreement when Yukari's face fell suddenly. Akihiko staggered back and had to brace himself against the railing as she grabbed his chin and jerked his face to the side to get a look at the purple bruise blossoming under his stubble.

"Holy _crap_ \- Did I do that?"

* * *

Iori was still asleep on the sofa, so Akihiko instructed Aigis, Fuuka, and Yukari to re-search the flat. This time, he told them, don't underestimate anything.

"If you think it's important," Akihiko said, holding up the blue scrap of paper he had found in Mitsuru's closet. "It probably is."

They quickly split up and doubled their efforts. Aigis took Mitsuru's bedroom while Yukari and Fuuka searched the rest of the flat. Akihiko continued rummaging through the kitchen drawers and when his search turned up nothing, he went into the living room. After fixing Iori with a judgemental sigh for his catatonic state, Akihiko got on his knees and began combing his hands through the sofa cushions, occasionally rolling Iori around to get to the edges.

His fingers caught the corner of a slip of paper. Quickly, Akihiko pulled it out and immediately noticed the blue shade of the paper. Akihiko settled against the sofa as he compared it to the scrap of paper found in Mitsuru's Port Island loft.

The slip found in Mitsuru's sofa was longer and neatly rolled up while the first was but a scrap torn from a corner, but the two were unquestionably from the same sheet. Akihiko carefully unrolled the second slip and furrowed his eyebrows in consternation upon seeing the delicate cursive script.

_C'est pour cela que je suis née_

"Aigis," Akihiko called for his friend as he stood up. "I need you."

The group quickly re-assembled in the living room and each of them peered curiously at the paper as Akihiko passed it to Aigis.

"What does it say?" Akihiko asked.

Aigis opened her mouth to reply, when someone else answered Akihiko's question.

" _I was born for this_."

All eyes turned in sudden alarm to Junpei, who had finally woken up from his snoring stupor on the sofa.

He was propped up on his arm, and Akihiko noticed a small puddle of drool on the cushion where he had been sleeping. Junpei's bleary eyes were locked on the tiny piece of paper in Aigis' hand. Akihiko felt his stomach turn sour as he watched Junpei's mouth form a wide 'o.'

"I. . . think I just remembered something important."


	5. Paris Rendezvous: Part 2

**October**

 

Mitsuru’s guide led her through a maze of sunken buildings.

 

They passed a grouping of small tobacco shops, grocery stores from carrying goods from far away places, and dank pharmacies where the grime was caked on to the windows. Eventually, they moved beyond the storefronts and made their way into a downtrodden residential area. Her leader would occasionally throw a glance back in her direction to make sure she was still following, but he remained silent.

 

From the moment he started his stride, Mitsuru knew he was a fighter.

 

It might have been the way oncoming pedestrians naturally moved away from his large stature and imposing gait. It might have been the way his shoulders slouched, or the way his feet were angled when he walked. Mitsuru decided it was the way her mysterious companion carried his hands in the shape of a fist and the way his head bobbed toward sudden sounds and flashes of movement. He was ready to strike, someone just needed to give him a reason.

 

She’d seen reflexes like that before.

 

Poco Hermasillo was in the center of a cluster of run-down and dilapidated buildings. From the corner, the small restaurant buzzed with a warm light and laughter. As they approached, Mitsuru felt a small break in the tension. Her guide swung the door open for her and Mitsuru carefully stepped into the restaurant.

 

Her senses were overwhelmed by the smells emanating from the grill and the sounds of a full house. Strange, spicy scents of cumin and paprika mingled with the rapid sounds of Spanish. A woman was barking orders from the kitchen and every booth was filled with customers devouring warm pots of exotic looking food.

 

“Alejo!” A small girl in a bright pink dress with a serving tray suddenly bounced in front of Mitsuru’s guide. “Ooooo, is this your girlfriend? _Que bonita!_ Too pretty for your big ugly face!”

 

Mitsuru watched with wide eyes as her hulking escort leaned down and plucked the girl up from under her arms. The boulder of a man pulled the little girl in close to his face and snarled. Mitsuru watched, aghast as the small girl let out a sharp yip before escaping from his grasp and fleeing.

 

He looked back to Mitsuru, his eyebrows still knit together in a scowl, and nodded toward an empty booth at the back of the restaurant. Mitsuru followed him and sat across from him with her head held high.

 

They fixed each other with hard, unblinking stares until a petite woman suddenly popped out of the serving window of the kitchen.

 

“Yo, Alejandro! She hungry?”

 

Alejandro’s scowl tightened on Mitsuru. Mitsuru politely waved her hands to woman hanging out of the serving window, even as her stomach rumbled.

 

“I-I’m quite fine, thank you very much.”

 

The woman looked her up and down with a glare and a disbelieving frown before shaking her head.

 

“She’s a bag of skin and bones!” She shouted at Alejandro. “What are you doing bringing a starving girl into my restaurant? She better know how to eat!”

 

“Girl?” Mitsuru repeated, blankly staring at Alejandro.

 

The cinches on Alejandro’s nose loosened slightly as he responded to the woman in the kitchen with a nod. In moments, the woman bustled out with a tray and slid two bowls of what appeared to be hot stew in front of Mitsuru and her stony companion.

 

“Pozole,” Alejandro defined for her.

 

Mitsuru looked down at the hearty mixture and felt her eyes closing as she breathed in the sensuous aroma of tender pork, hominy, and chiles. She opened her eyes to Alejandro, staring at her with a cocked eyebrow.

 

“I- thank you for the kind gesture,” she stammered. “But I really must speak with-”

 

“Eat first,” his rumbling voice interrupted Mitsuru, and she watched in stunned silence as he picked up a spoon and began to slurp. “Business later.”

 

* * *

 

Mitsuru diligently finished the entire bowl of soup, and when the woman came back to retrieve it, she nodded her head in approval.

 

“Good,” she muttered, clearing the table.

 

Alejandro stood up and led Mitsuru through the kitchen and into a small, cluttered office. He motioned for Mitsuru to sit in the chair opposite of the desk and she obliged him carefully. Mitsuru idly wondered if this was a way of breaking down her confidence. A filling meal followed by a meeting in a small, though extremely messy office.

 

Mitsuru looked around at the loose papers stacked precariously against the wall, and Alejandro seemed to fill the entire corner of the office when he sat down in a chair behind Mitsuru. They sat for several minutes as the clock on the wall kept rhythm to their tight silence. At last, the door creaked open and Mitsuru shot up from her seat with erect posture and a serious expression.

 

The elderly gentlemen wore a tan suit that seemed to sag loosely over his frail frame. His snow white hair was made complete by the thick matching mustache over his lips. He tipped his worn fedora to her with a gentle smile.  Mitsuru blinked away the confusion and nodded to him respectfully.

 

“I am very late, indeed. I do apologize, Kirijo-san,” he said, removing his glasses and extending his hand to her. “The restaurant becomes very busy this time of year with the chilly weather.”

 

Mitsuru hazily took his hand and reflexively looked back at Alejandro in befuddlement. He looked back at her lazily, his arms crossed against his chest.

 

“I trust your time with Alejandro has been lively,” the gentleman said with a gently mocking smile as he crossed over and sat down behind his desk.

 

“Please, sit,” he motioned to Mitsuru’s vacant seat when she did not respond.

 

He paused, his kind smile sharpening slightly as Mitsuru sat and struggled to articulate her confusion.

 

“I take it by your reaction that you are trying to recall if you’ve seen my face.”

 

Mitsuru nodded with a blush.

 

“I am Josue Perez. I was once the Director of the Agua Prieta School for Children.”

 

Mitsuru’s eyes grew wide as she attempted to recall ever seeing his name or face in the files from archives. Failing to do so, Mitsuru parted her lips to speak but wasn’t able to put together a sentence appropriately articulating her confusion. speak. Perez leaned over and removed a stack of papers from the tower of files and placed them in front of his hands. He picked up a pen and offered Mitsuru a gentle nod.

 

“I can assure you,” Perez said, clearly reading Mitsuru’s attempts to remember.  “Even if you’ve reviewed every existing file from Agua Prieta and Al Boutul, you will not have seen my face.” he said, starting to write on the white sheet.

 

“There will be plenty of time for questions after the interview.”

 

“Interview?” Mitsuru asked numbly and Perez nodded gently.

 

“Your interview for the position, Kirijo-san.”

* * *

 

“Please describe your management style.”

 

She had to take a moment to recover from the initial shock of his response. Mitsuru reminded herself of what she had been telling herself these last two months. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to make things right.  

 

“Lean,” Mitsuru answered shortly before elaborating. “I prefer experts administering departments, not generalists. The departments must at once work together and operate singly. I learned in my early in my career to choose leaders whose experience was considerably different than mine.  I’ve recently learned that I’ve been too negligent with some departments, however.”

 

“That sounds like a painful lesson,” Perez said softly, eyes twinkling. Behind her, Mitsuru heard the crunch of Alejandro’s leather jacket as he shifted in his seat.

 

“Indeed,” Mitsuru murmured in response. “Mistakes and weaknesses are galvanizing forces, however. There is no growth without pain. I have a specific plan for correcting the course.”

 

“I’d be very interested to hear the details of this plan,” Perez remarked. “Shall we move on to the next question?”

 

“Certainly.”

 

“How do you enforce your role as President and CEO within the Kirijo Group?”

 

“A company is a ship. I steer, others row.”

 

“Please, elaborate. How do you decide who will row?”

 

“Above all, experience, loyalty, and devotion to the task at hand are qualities I look for in my associates,” Mitsuru paused sadly as Arisato flashed into her mind. One by one, the images of her friends as teenagers followed  She tried pasting the faces of her associates and her Board over them, but failed. Mitsuru shut her eyes to block them out.

 

“There must be more than good intentions,” she finished resolutely.

 

“Is this what you consider your greatest strength as President and CEO? A keen eye for people?”

 

“A CEO must have vision,” Mitsuru answered. “My eye for detail is typically strong, though as I mentioned, recent oversights have given me cause to re-evaluate my abilities. My vision for my company, however, has only grown stronger.”

 

“And what is your vision for your company?”

 

Mitsuru raised her eyes momentarily and gave the question a thoughtful blink.

 

“A great unifier. A presence that brings together the world’s greatest talents, minds, and hearts to make this world safe and prosperous.”

 

Perez nodded as he wrote something down on the sheet of paper before flipping it over and raising his eyes to Mitsuru.

 

“What is your greatest weakness?”

 

“Fire,” Mitsuru responded automatically.

 

Perez raised his eyebrows and Mitsuru’s cheeks burned as she scrambled to amend her answer.

 

“You must forgive me - My circumstances have not previously given me the opportunity to participate as an interviewee for a position. I’m a little anxious.”

 

“That is perfectly understandable,” Perez answered patiently. “Please, continue when you are ready.”

 

“It is difficult for me. . . “ Mitsuru hesitated. “I sometimes feel as though I cannot ask for help.”

 

Perez stared at her expressionlessly, though Mitsuru could see a gleam of concern beyond the glare of his spectacles.

 

“That must be a very difficult thing for one in a position such as yours.”

 

“My associates are subordinate to me,” Mitsuru answered softly. “I’m not exactly asking for their help when I give them an order.”

 

“Then you are referring to asking help from your friends?” Perez asked evenly.

 

“There are some things we have to do alone,” she responded, looking away.

 

Perez nodded stiffly before moving on.

 

“I’m going to ask you a few technical questions,” he said, clearing his throat. Mitsuru felt the relief wash over her as the conversation was redirected.

 

“Please feel free to elaborate where necessary. On a scale of 1 to 3, 1 being Poor, 2 being Adequate, and 3 being Excellent, please rank your proficiency with the following combat methods: Long range artillery?”

 

Mitsuru thought of Aigis and shook her head softly.

 

“Poor.”

 

“Close-range artillery?”

 

She could aim an Evoker to her temple, but Mitsuru had never used an actual gun. She decided the Evoker had to count for something.

 

“Adequate.”

 

“Hand to hand combat?”

 

Mitsuru sighed, thinking back on her brief sessions with Akihiko.

 

“Adequate.”

 

“Miscellaneous?”

 

Mitsuru aimed a steely gaze at Perez in response.

 

“Excellent.”

 

Perez leaned back in his seat and sighed gently as he removed his glasses.

 

“That completes the formal portion of the interview. Now, I believe you have some questions for me.”

* * *

 

When the Kirijo Group announced that they would be opening a school in Sonora, Takeharu Kirijo had personally recruited Josue Perez to lead the school. Perez held a doctorate in Child Psychology and had advised Mexico’s top Education officials for decades, before he left to work for the Kirijo Company in his hometown. His father had been a French diplomat and his mother the daughter of a wealthy sugar cane trader in Mexico. Money had never been an issue for his family, but Perez was all too familiar with the plight of the workers on the farm and often gave informal lessons in various subjects before and after the work day.

 

Josue Perez had taken an instant liking to Takeharu Kirijo, and vice-versa. They had met several times to go over the design of the school and  to discuss curriculum. The two men had similar opinions about how children should be educated and the integral role of family in raising a child.

 

There had once been a photo of Perez and Kirijo standing together at the podium of a grand opening, but Perez suspected it had been purged along with all other documentation of his existence.

 

Before long, Takeharu Kirijo’s VP for Charitable Giving had reached retirement age and the position remained vacant. It occurred to the esteemed leader of the Kirijo Group to utilize one Shuji Ikutsuki as a stop gap until a more permanent replacement was found.

 

Perez’s feelings toward the Chairman were less than warm. Even though Ikutsuki’s position made travel to Sonora difficult, the Chairman had easily installed a liaison directly out of the Agua Prieta school: Eisei Maeda.

 

Perez’s control over his own school slowly began to slip as Maeda used the Kirijo name and resources to authorize activities and purchases that ran contrary to the school’s mission.

 

Children would be pulled from their classes for small studies or questioning. Perez noticed that many of these children would be lost in a fog or stupor after their ‘brief excursions’ from class, and were unable to continue on in their studies. Some students were even taken on ‘field trips’ to a laboratory outside of the township. When Perez had demanded to know the subject of the field trip, he had been met with glib non-answers.

 

Perez’s pleas for Takeharu Kirijo to intervene were intercepted and never made it back to headquarters.

 

When the elder Kirijo passed suddenly, Perez had been remorseful that he had been unable to attend the funeral. He had sent flowers and his condolences to Kirijo’s young daughter, but knew the best way to honor the philanthropic efforts of his friend was to continue his efforts to uplift children out of poverty with education.

 

It was during this time that Maeda amplified his nefarious activities.

 

The teachers had all been sacked and replaced with scientists. The security budget for the school had been dissolved and the cartel’s activities inched closer and closer to the school’s walls. The classrooms were all retrofitted to reflect the layouts of hospital rooms and kennels. Ikutsuki’s puppet had taken on a life of his own and had decided the children were better suited to be living contributions to science rather than a wasted education.

 

Perez had fought vociferously for his school, and by the time Maeda had made a deal with the cartels, the prestigious director had a large target on his back. The threats on his life were not contained to him, and soon his entire family had been exposed to daily threats on their life.

 

When Perez’s sister-in-law did not appear for her monthly lunches with his wife, the situation became imminently more volatile. Perez’s wife called her sister, and when she did not answer, they rushed to their home only to find both her and her husband had been shot in the head with notes tucked to their clothes: the cartel had taken Perez’s niece. Perez pleaded with Maeda to return the girl and offered to do anything to prevent any harm befalling the child.

 

Ikutsuki’s heir acquiesced on the condition that Perez leave Mexico and never return. With Perez facing an impossible situation, Perez’s nephew (who by sheer luck had been at work on his family’s plantation while his home had been under attack) took it upon himself to enter the cartel’s territory and retrieve  his little sister alone.

 

No one knew the exact story, but one thing was certain: Alejandro Perez had returned to his uncle’s home standing tall with three bullets lodged in his chest, his sister safely tucked under his arm.

 

The family fled to Paris as soon as Alejandro was well enough.

* * *

 

“Alejandro returned to Mexico to target what buyers he could as soon as we discovered the cartel was purchasing children for the purposes of drug trafficking. My wife and I have handled the technological and financial details from here. Since, we’ve had small successes, as you have seen, but we are in dire need of organization and strategy,” Perez said softly.

 

By the way he was looking at her, Mitsuru judged that he had seen the tears of anger welling in her eyes.

 

“Kirijo-san, I knew your father,” Perez continued kindly. “He was a good man. I knew the daughter of such a man would never condone such atrocities. I reached out to you and provided you a starting point, hoping that you would join with us to stop these men who have besmirched your family’s good name.”

 

Mitsuru looked up, distantly wondering if the little girl she saw with the tray was Perez’s niece.  

 

“I know you have been working to uncover the foul details of this plot just as doggedly as I. I ask you now, will you lend us your talents to lead an assault against the men behind these disappearances?”

 

She had come here for this, hoping for this opportunity to lend herself to the destruction of these abhorrent men, but when Mitsuru heard the offer, a very small voice begged her to reconsider.  

 

Mitsuru could offer them money under the table, the voice told her. She could operate this entire extraction from far away and still be safe in her tower, still enjoy long-distance phone conversations with Amada and listen to Aigis’ travel stories. She could overhaul the Charitable Giving wing. She could make things right with Akihiko. There was still a life for her to live, the voice told her.

 

“Before you answer,” Perez’s magnetic gaze pulled her back to the moment.  

 

“I must in good conscience warn you. This position would require a substantial commitment, Kirijo-san. You would need to relocate and would not stop moving until the work was done. You would be living in substandard conditions considerably poorer than you are used to. Without a doubt, you would become the number one target for the cartels and power brokers. There is a considerable chance that you would lose your company, your reputation, and quite likely, your life.”

 

Mitsuru thought of all the loose ends she’d leave behind. The weddings, birthdays, and anniversaries she would miss began stacking up in her head. She’d have to update her will. The ivy plant Yamagishi gave her would certainly die in her absence-

 

“If you decide to turn back after this meeting tonight, expect no punitive response from us,” Perez went on firmly. “I will do my best to keep your name out of the fray when this ordeal comes to light.”

 

As Mitsuru watched the elderly gentleman across from her take a deep breath, the pitiful voice in her mind begged her take the easy way out.

 

“Are you sure you are interested in this position?”

 

As soon as Mitsuru realized Perez was finished speaking, she stood up.

 

“Mr. Perez. I appreciate the intent behind the question, but you forget who I am as well as why you invited me here,” she said slowly, arms slack at her side.

 

“I am not some naive weakling running carelessly into battle. I am Mitsuru Kirijo. Whatever the methods, whoever the enemy, and wherever the battleground: I am undeterred.”

 

Josue Perez stood up somberly and took her hands in his.

 

“You have my gratitude, Kirijo-san. Provided you undergo a training period, the position is yours.”

 

Mitsuru’s swell of resolve was temporarily deflated at this provision.

 

“Training?” She repeated dully.

 

“It would be unwise for the leader of this mission to be untrained with a firearm. The enemy is not afraid to use the artificial personas forced upon their child subjects, so you may not under any circumstances, employ Artemesia,” Perez said her persona’s name so nonchalantly that Mitsuru almost missed his reference to what she thought was her well-kept secret.

 

“The training will also help inform your decision-making process when you’re assembling a team with the appropriate expertise. Alejandro will provide as much or as little training as he deems necessary.”

 

Mitsuru looked back sharply to Alejandro, whose scowl had turned slightly smug.

 

“This young man. . . is to accompany me?”  

 

“We are still a family-run business, after all,” Perez chortled. “Please consider him your Chief Operations Officer. Anything you need; provisions, accommodations, or vehicles will be taken care of by my nephew. He will also provide you a pool of applicants to choose from when you are ready to assemble your team.”

 

Mitsuru pursed her lips as she felt Alejandro stand up behind her.

 

“Please, do let Alejandro walk you home,” Perez implored. Mitsuru wavered between feeling indignant and touched by his concern.

 

“The streets of Paris at this hour are no place for a young lady such as yourself.”

 

Mitsuru felt she had no choice but to accept. As they walked through the hallway leading back into the main restaurant, Mitsuru was met with a considerably emptied dining room and the woman from earlier.

 

“Here you go, honey,” she said, pushing a plain white box into Mitsuru’s hands. “The best Tres Leches you can find in Paris, on the house.”

 

Numbly, Mitsuru thanked her before nodding to Perez. This time, Mitsuru led the way out to the Metro station while Alejandro closely shadowed her steps.

* * *

 

When they reached the block adjacent to Mitsuru’s flat, she sharply rounded on Alejandro. He glanced down at her calmly, his eyes like still water.

 

“If you and I are going to take on this task together,” Mitsuru began pointedly. “I need to know that your resolve is unassailable. Tonight, you heard first hand what I stand for. So I ask you, Alejandro, why are you here? Why are you doing this?”

 

In the darkness, Mitsuru could not read beyond the stern frown on Alejandro’s face. He shifted his weight to one side as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn sheet of blue paper.

 

“Got a pen?” He asked dully.

 

Mitsuru floundered momentarily before reaching into her purse and offering him a fine tipped pen.

 

He took it gently and pressed the paper up against the side of a building. His writing lasted mere moments before he tore off a corner and offered it to Mitsuru. She glanced at it and withheld an exasperated sigh.

 

It was just a phone number.

 

Mitsuru looked up to repeat her question and found that Alejandro was writing something else on the other corner. He gently tore the piece away from the blue sheet and offered it to her without a word.

 

“Call me, boss,” he said as he turned away.

 

Mitsuru scarcely heard him. Her entire attention was devoted to the simple phrase neatly inscribed on the back of Poco Hermasillo’s menu.  

* * *

 

“Sorry, didn’t know anyone else was awake.”

 

Mitsuru smiled wearily from her place on the sofa as she angled her gaze beyond the pillar in the living room. Junpei was shyly standing in the hallway, looking ready to turn around and flee.

 

“No apology is necessary, Iori,” she said softly. “You should know by now that this your home, too . . . Won’t you join me?” Mitsuru sealed the invitation by motioning to the cushion next to her.

 

Junpei sighed with relief as he plopped down next to Mitsuru, his head falling limp against the back of the sofa.

 

“Jet lag?” Mitsuru asked knowingly.

 

“Yeah. Gets me everytime. I don’t know how you’re so used to it. Must be exhausting traveling all of the time.”

 

“How is Chidori?”

 

“She’s amazing,” Junpei’s expression instantly grew less heavy. “Fast asleep. She’s really opened up to the others, you know? After you left, she wanted to go to the Muzay Doors. . . I’m saying it wrong, huh?”

 

“Musée d’Orsay,” Mitsuru laughed gently.

 

“Yeah! She made plans to go there with Fuuka and Yuka-tan tomorrow before we fly home since it was closed tonight. Last year, she came back with two sketch books full of sculptures. What’cha got there, senpai?” Junpei asked suddenly, his arm already extending for the piece of paper in Mitsuru’s hand.

 

“Iori, wait-”

 

Junpei had taken it from her hand in one fell swoop, and Mitsuru was so tired she didn’t have the stamina to snatch it back or reprimand Iori’s impulsiveness.

 

“What does it say?” he asked bluntly, turning the paper over from side to side.

 

“It says _I was born for this_ ,” she replied quietly, hoping he wouldn’t probe too much further.

 

“Born for what?” Junpei glanced at the nearly complete slice of Tres Leches sitting closeby on the coffee table. “Cake?”

 

Junpei grinned with satisfaction as his question elicited a smile from Mitsuru.

 

“No, Iori. Joan of Arc is reported to have said it before she was burned at the stake.”

 

“Geez, senpai,” Junpei said, quickly wadding the piece of paper back into Mitsuru’s hand. “Sounds like you had a great meeting.”

 

“I asked someone why they were willing to take certain risks,” Mitsuru explained, smoothing out the paper on her thigh. “This is how they responded. I’ve been thinking about it . . . not just in my own life but for the people I care about.”

 

“You lost me.”

 

Mitsuru cocked her head, her eyes curious on Junpei.

 

“Iori. . . After we pushed back Nyx and Erebus, did you feel like there was something that you were put on this earth to do? Something other than fighting shadows?”

 

“Like my destiny or something?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Chidori.”

 

Mitsuru rewarded him with a poignant stare.

 

“I was meant to be with her,” Junpei said simply. “And I’m pretty sure she was meant to take care of me. I mean, marriage isn’t as easy as a lot people make it sound like. I love it though, even when it’s hard, because I know we’re meant to take care of each other.”

 

Mitsuru’s gaze became unfocused on the coffee table. The force of his response was so earnest and genuine that nothing she could say could possibly compare.

 

“What about you, senpai?”

 

She paused, still lost in thought.

 

“I used to think my purpose in life was to redeem my family’s legacy. Sometimes, I still feel like that’s  a recurring theme in my life but. . . after Arisato . . .”

 

Junpei’s downcast expression only halted Mitsuru’s train of thought for a second.

 

“I started to wonder if perhaps my purpose is to unite others. As CEO, I’ve had the fortune of bringing together a team of the most talented individuals to work toward a greater good. If I can bring the right people together for the right task, I think I may truly be able to help-”

 

Mitsuru’s thought crescendo died suddenly, and she could feel Junpei staring at her in befuddlement. Mitsuru’s cheeks suddenly felt flushed, and she gathered her long hair to block her profile in an attempt to conceal it.

 

“Senpai. . . Is everything okay?” Junpei asked, peering at her closely. “You seem - I don’t know, like something’s eating at you. . .”

 

“It’s late,” Mitsuru dismissed quickly. “I’ve simply had too much coffee.”

 

“Are you sure?” Junpei asked, still eyeing her with concern.

 

Mitsuru nodded, a soft smile creeping over her lips.

 

“Iori. . . I know I’m not an easy person to be friends with or confide in, but. . . I want to tell you that seeing you so happy. . . It brings me happiness. I want things to stay that way. For you and the others.”

 

Junpei grinned widely, and by all appearances, their strange exchange appeared to be instantly wiped from his memory.

 

“I can make that happen,” Junpei assured her. “But I’ll need a bite of whatever you’re eating.”

 

“Please,” Mitsuru said, placing the Tres Leches in his lap with a fork. “I couldn’t possibly have any more.”

 

“What is it?” Junpei asked, half of the cake already in his mouth.

 

“Tres Leches,” Mitsuru said distractedly, rolling the small piece of paper up into a tight bundle.  “The best in Paris.”

 

Mitsuru was suddenly stung by a sharp stab of panic as she watched Junpei shovel the cake into his mouth. The sensation immediately faded as he swallowed the lump of perfection with a contented sigh.

* * *

  **December**

 

“Where did she get the cake, Junpei?” Akihiko pressed, walking to his makeshift drawing board after Junpei finished his account.

 

“Huh?” he responded, drawing his shoulders back against the sofa. “Seriously? That’s what you want to know?”

 

“Idiot!” Yukari groaned.  “If we know where she got the cake-”

 

“Then we will know where she was, and potentially, who was with her,” Aigis explained carefully.

 

“Where did she get it?” Yukari repeated urgently, stalking closer to Junpei’s seat on the sofa.

 

“I-I don’t know!” Junpei grabbed his temples in a panic, trying in earnest to recall. “She just said it was the best in Paris!”

 

“Settle down,” Akihiko warned loudly, capping his marker as he finished drawing a circle around the word ‘Tres Leches’. The room went silent as Akihiko ripped out a fresh sheet of drawing paper and stuck it to the mantle.

 

“We are not going on a wild goose chase without more information. Now, this is our timeline,” Akihiko labeled two categories and separated them with a vertical line before continuing. “ _Before Paris_ and _After Paris_.”

 

“From what I was able to gather from Mitsuru’s contacts, including Chihiro Fushimi, we know Mitsuru was interested in files about the Kirijo Group’s school in Mexico and Lebanon,” Akihiko said, jotting down the word ‘Sonora’ in the first column.

 

The group watched Akihiko thoughtfully as he continued writing.

 

“She was also working with a personal trainer,” Akihiko added, adding a second item to the column.

 

“What’s so weird about that?” Yukari asked skeptically. “She’s been working with one ever since you guys broke up.”

 

“Nothing, except she switched her routine up about a month before she came to Paris,” Akihiko remarked pointedly. “Mitsuru was weight training.”

 

“Senpai was _pumping iron_?” Junpei asked incredulously.

 

“Now, that’s something I can’t picture,” Yukari muttered before falling silent.

 

Akihiko smiled darkly to himself as he wrote the words ‘weight training’ into the first column. He stepped back and surveyed the drawing paper as the others exchanged hushed words. Fushimi hadn’t mentioned the Kirijo Board shadowing Mitsuru’s work prior to her brief trip to Paris. The Board had only showed up when Mitsuru was reported to be missing.

 

He scratched his chin before turning to the group.

 

“Does anyone else remember any strange or unusual interactions with Mitsuru while you were here?”

 

“Mitsuru-san received a message while we were shopping,” Aigis replied immediately. “Her reaction to this message was unusual.”

 

“Unusual how?”

 

“Mitsuru-san often receives work related messages, but upon receiving this message, she seemed. . . upset.”

 

“Mitsuru-senpai stepped out of the store, didn’t she?” Fuuka said. “You followed her outside, Aigis.”

 

Aigis nodded to Fuuka before looking back to Akihiko.

 

“She said that the matter was company business and assured me everything was fine. Still . . .” Aigis looked away, her expression suddenly heavy. “I sensed she was not being truthful. I should have pursued the matter further.”

 

“We’re not here to assign blame,” Akihiko stated frankly as he wrote down ‘upsetting text message’ on the board. “No one here is responsible for Mitsuru’s disappearance. What else?”

 

Fuuka glanced up at Akihiko briefly with a perturbed expression.

 

“Talk to us, Fuuka,” Akihiko nudged gently.

 

“She was talking about assembling a team,” Fuuka murmured distantly. Everyone looked to Fuuka as she fixed Junpei with a soft stare. “Isn’t that what you said, Junpei?”

 

“Well, yeah, but she was talking about the company,” Junpei answered, turning around to face Fuuka.

 

“Mitsuru-san specifically referenced the Kirijo Group when she mentioned this?” Aigis asked intently.

 

Junpei frowned.

 

“No. . . but what else could she be talking about? I mean,” he rubbed the back of his neck gingerly. “If it didn’t have anything to do with the company, she wouldn’t assemble a team of people other than us. Right?”

 

The group exchanged worried glances.

 

“Oh my God,” Yukari muttered, slumping down next to Junpei on the sofa. Akihiko turned his back to the group to add to the drawing paper, his heart pulsing with a dull anger.

 

* * *

 

Akihiko saw the hands of the clock on Mitsuru’s wall creep closer to midnight and called for a quick dinner break. They ordered takeout from the Chinese restaurant downstairs before re-living their last day in Paris with Mitsuru.

 

The group eagerly devoured boxes of noodles as they recalled how Mitsuru had taken them to a cafe around the corner and treated them to croissants and coffee.

 

“She said her dinner meeting went longer than expected,” Yukari said tiredly, staring at the sheet of paper as Akihiko took notes.

 

“That was before Chidori-san surprised us all with our own copies of the photo she took of us the night before on the Champs-Elysees,” Fuuka added, sounding infinitely more despondent.

 

“We left that evening and arrived in Japan on October 12th,” Aigis concluded.

 

“Including Mitsuru?” Akihiko clarified.

 

Everyone nodded and Akihiko let out a hoarse sigh before continuing.

 

“Okay, that puts us here,” he pointed to the _After Paris_ column. “Fushimi said the last time Mitsuru was seen was on October 15th. That gives us roughly two days to work with-”

 

A light chirping sound interrupted Akihiko and all eyes turned to Fuuka, whose face was bright red.

 

“Excuse me,” she said, pulling out her phone. “I think I know who this is, though.”

 

Fuuka leaned over and placed her phone on the coffee table.

 

“Go ahead, Ken-kun.”

 

The room was temporarily illuminated with tight-lipped smiles, and everyone scooted closer to the coffee table.

 

“Afternoon, everyone,” Ken Amada’s voice echoed throughout the living room. “Or I guess it’s good evening, huh?”

 

“It is wonderful to hear your voice, Ken-san,” Aigis said.

 

“Hey, man,” Junpei shouted at the phone. “How’s San Francisco? Catch any baseball games lately-”

 

“Thanks for calling to talk about _Mitsuru-senpai_ , Ken-kun,” Yukari said,  sharply elbowing Junpei in the ribs.

 

“You should be studying,” Akihiko added tersely, staring at the drawing board with a frown.

 

“Hey guys,” Ken replied with a laugh. “And hello to you too, Sanada-san.”

 

“Ken-kun wanted to help,” Fuuka said, specifically addressing the dubious expression on Akihiko’s face. Akihiko furrowed his forehead in consternation before deciding that there was no harm in Ken simply listening in.

 

“Two days,” he reminded the group. “But I think we can agree that whatever initiated Mitsuru’s disappearance happened here in Paris.”

 

Akihiko surveyed the group. Each seemed to be fighting an internal battle to remember, rethink, and re-evaluate their last interactions with Mitsuru. He frowned to himself, unable to stop himself from doing the same. He quickly shut out the memory of the night he left Mitsuru, knowing it wouldn’t be helpful in this context.

 

Still, the memory lingered. Akihiko sighed, watching the reel in his mind playback.

 

 _I won’t stand in your way, Akihiko_.

 

A cold sweat suddenly enveloped Akihiko’s skin.

 

“What do you think happened, Sanada-san?” Ken’s voice startled Akihiko into looking back up at his friends and over to the board. He didn’t reply to Ken’s question out loud, but instead dwelled in the memory of Mitsuru’s voice.

 

She had thought she was in his way. Even though that couldn’t have been farther from the truth, Akihiko hadn’t allowed himself to tell her otherwise. Doing so would have only caused him to change his mind. He had needed time to prove himself, to demonstrate that he was strong enough-

 

Akihiko’s expression must have reflected his epiphany, because the group was now staring at him intently.

 

“I know she had enemies,” Ken continued. “I mean, you can’t be CEO of worldwide organization and _not_ have enemies, but who would want to kidnap her?”

 

Lots of people, Akihiko thought. Kidnapping plots were the reason behind the Board’s motivation to pin a bodyguard on Mitsuru. It was also the reason-

 

“I’m not so sure she was kidnapped,” Akihiko stated clearly.

 

“What are you saying?” Yukari said, rubbing in her eyes. “That she woke up and just decided not to be Mitsuru Kirijo one morning?”

 

“I’m not saying that,” Akihiko mumbled, stepping closer to the words on the drawing board.  “Either a professional came in, took her, and cleaned up her apartment or she disappeared deliberately.”

 

“You don’t think she was in trouble with the Board, do you?” Fuuka asked timidly.

 

“I’m not willing to count that out, knowing their habit with meddling,” Akihiko replied shortly.

 

“She was hiding something,” Aigis said. Akihiko turned to her and nodded.

 

“Well, she was probably hiding a lot of things,” Ken offered. “Kirijo-san’s always been somewhat of a mystery.”

 

“No,” Akihiko murmured, running his hand over the rough layer of stubble on his chin. “This was different.”

 

“This was bigger: She was training to get stronger, staying overnight at her office to review files, hiding meetings with strangers,” He tapped the terms on the paper one at a time as he spoke. “Whatever it was -”

 

“She felt alone,” Yukari murmured, her eyes downcast. She looked up to Akihiko, lost in the implication of the idea.

 

“Why wouldn’t she ask for our help?” Fuuka asked, sounding wounded by the idea.

 

Akihiko tried to pace his thoughts as he forced himself to take measured breaths.

 

Mitsuru had the notion (which Akihiko had allowed her to keep)  that she was somehow a burden on him, that her presence was holding him back. During their relationship, part of their struggle to become closer was attributed to Mitsuru’s need to keep her troubles to herself.

 

Mitsuru hadn’t asked for anyone’s help for the same reason she hadn’t asked Akihiko to stay. It was also the reason she never approached Akihiko with the Board’s only alternative to getting a bodyguard - marriage.

 

“Yeah, I mean we beat back Nyx and Erebus. It’s not like we’re not used to almost dying,” Junpei said, removing his cap.

 

“What do you think, Akihiko-san?” Aigis asked.

 

“Who are you asking?” Akihiko exhaled. “The cop or the ex-boyfriend?”

 

“Let’s say the ex-boyfriend,” Ken interjected. “Since the cop would probably be in some hot water right now for launching an off the books investigation.”

 

“Mitsuru was getting ready for a fight,” Akihiko said bitterly, looking at the worried expressions of his friends. “She didn’t ask for your help because she didn’t think she was coming back.”

  
  
  
****


	6. Oversight

**October**

Mitsuru’s stomach filled with a heavy dread when she realized she had misplaced the  slip of paper Alejandro had given her last night. It was a small oversight, Mitsuru told herself as she twisted her hair into a neat bun. One that should not be allowed to weigh on her mind. She had to make an effort to remain present with her friends today.

At breakfast, Mitsuru found instant relief in the company of the others.

“How was your date last night, senpai?” Yukari asked coquettishly, fluttering her eyelashes as she sipped her coffee.

Mitsuru shook her head at her friend’s expression. 

“Again, it was simply a business dinner.” 

“A business dinner which lasted until 2am,” Aigis elaborated archly. Fuuka tried to veil her giggling as Mitsuru’s expression became flushed. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint the thirst for sordid details,” Mitsuru said laughingly to Aigis, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “But it was simply a meeting which went on longer than expected.” 

Mitsuru’s eyes flickered to Junpei and to her relief, he seemed too pre-occupied with the mountain of almond croissants on his plate to add any further comment. 

“Now, how shall we spend our last few hours in Paris?” Mitsuru asked, surveying the group with a smile. 

“That reminds me,” Chidori said suddenly, leaning over in her chair to retrieve something from her satchel. Mrs. Iori carefully distributed a medium sized photo to each of the women at the table. Mitsuru’s smile faded slightly as her eyes greedily consumed the image of herself, Fuuka, Aigis, and Yukari, all joined together and laughing on the Champs-Élysées.

Her friends’ faces: bright, alive, hopeful. Mitsuru felt a mingling sensation of sadness, joy, and resolve tickling her throat as she feasted her eyes on the photo. She swallowed the feeling and looked up at her friends, forbidding herself from shedding any tears.

Mitsuru smiled. 

If this was to be the last time they were together like this, it deserved to be savored.

“Chidori-san,” Aigis murmured, eyes glassy.

“This is so perfect,” Yukari said, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“How did you capture the light so perfectly?” Fuuka asked.

“It’s no big deal,” Chidori shrugged. Beside her, her husband loudly chomped on his breakfast, beaming at his wife with pride.

* * *

Mitsuru dropped her bags as the door shut behind her. With a deep sigh, she flicked on the light and carefully absorbed the details of her beloved town home. As tired as she was, it was time to get to work.

 She used her landline to call Alejandro. He answered right away, sounding wide-awake despite the time difference. When she pressed him on what he considered to be an optimal timeline to begin work, his concise response helped Mitsuru finalize her timeframe for departure.   

“Soon is better, now is best, boss,” he answered simply.

Mitsuru scanned her apartment again, a list forming in her head as she slipped the blue scrap of paper with Alejandro’s phone number into her coat. She could be en-route to Mexico in two days. Alejandro told her to meet with Josue in Paris no later than October 16th, which meant Mitsuru needed to leave by the 15th. The Perez family would ensure that Mitsuru’s transit to Mexico remained covert. 

Alejandro would meet her in Mexico City.

Mitsuru ended the call and immediately logged into her computer. First, she needed to transfer her personal assets and accounts. Her father had opened an account for her, unbeknownst the the Company, in Paris as part of his will. The account was to be emblematic of a safe haven for Mitsuru, if ever she was in want of a different life for herself after completing her studies in Paris. 

Mitsuru couldn’t think of a more appropriate time to utilize the symbolic sanctuary. She withdrew a modest amount of funds to a savings account with the plan to complete the transfer to her private reserve once she returned to Paris. It seemed unfair to let Perez and his family foot the entire bill for this operation.

Next, she deleted the emails from Perez, one by one. Mitsuru wiped her personal browsing history, being careful to start from July, just to be safe. Her viewing history from the company archives was trickier to eliminate, but Mitsuru managed to use a general access key she’d kept on hand from the IT Department to pull it off. There was a copying center a few blocks from headquarters where Mitsuru could shred the photographs and corresponding envelopes that Perez had sent her.

Mitsuru ascended the stairs, feeling rushed. After shedding her coat, Mitsuru reached up to hang it in her closet when she saw the small slip of blue paper flutter down behind one of the drawers.

She cursed and immediately started rummaging through the tower of drawers in an attempt to recover the tiny sliver of paper.

After a few minutes of fevered digging, Mitsuru took a deep breath and stepped back. 

She was becoming paranoid, she affirmed. If she couldn’t find a small scrap of paper, how would anyone else be able to, especially if they weren’t even looking for such a thing? If indeed the Kirijo Company or the police came to search her apartment, it was highly unlikely that they would be able to turn up such a small item. 

Mitsuru stared at the drawers in her closet as she rubbed her fingertips together thoughtfully. 

Even if by some stroke of luck someone did find it, she reasoned, it was just a phone number.

* * *

 

 

“A vacation? Of course,” Chihiro stated, opening the spiral notepad in her hand. “Where shall I book the flight to? Afternoon or morning departure? Any preferred hotels?”

 Mitsuru stared steadily at Chihiro as she waited for her assistant to finish her questions. 

“I’ll take care of the details, Fushimi.” 

Chihiro’s eyes bulged. 

“Are you certain, Kirijo-san? I know you’re very busy, I’m extremely happy to-” 

“Don’t misunderstand, Fushimi. You are an extremely capable assistant,” Mitsuru said kindly, tilting her gaze forward to meet Chihiro’s fearful expression. “I simply haven’t decided where I’ll be going. However, would you please call the following individuals on Monday and inform them that I’ll be on vacation?” 

“Certainly, Kirijo-san,” she said, her voice still echoing a hint of her earlier concern as she took the list from Mitsuru.

Mitsuru swiveled confidently back to her computer and began typing as Chihiro read over the list. Mitsuru was grateful when Chihiro didn't question why her closest friends were not included. 

“Is there a certain date they can expect you to return?” Chihiro asked smally, clipping the list to her notepad. Mitsuru turned to her with a smirk. 

“Perhaps it would be best not to provide a timeframe,” Mitsuru instructed shortly. Chihiro nodded with an odd look in her eyes before quietly departing Mitsuru’s office. 

Mitsuru resumed typing the email, unfazed. Chihiro would already be subject to intense questioning by the Board. It was best to give her the least amount of information possible, especially since her kind-hearted assistant would ultimately be forced to give up the details regarding Mitsuru’s late night research into the Charitable Giving Department. 

If eluding the culprits entirely was not possible, Mitsuru was going to take full advantage of her head start. 

Updating her will presented the greatest challenge. Her lawyer held Mitsuru’s confidentiality in high esteem, but she wouldn’t hesitate to report Mitsuru’s visit to the Kirijo Group if questioned, particularly since the Board Chair was the executor of her estate. 

Mitsuru sat at her desk, coldly evaluating the stacks of papers on her desk. Nothing here needed to be addressed immediately, so she felt justified in taking just a moment to consider her course of action. 

She sent the email and immediately began wiping her hard drive. 

At this moment, Mitsuru had no reason to suspect any of the Board members other than her Treasurer, but even so, her trust in the Board was too frail for Mitsuru to bequeath her estate in their hands. Until Mitsuru had weeded out all of the traitors in her company, she would not permit any additional resources to be placed into the Board’s sphere of influence.

* * *

When October 15th arrived at her feet, Mitsuru moved methodically through her day. She listened in on a conference call, met with her COO over lunch, approved invoices, and responded to a few emails before returning home. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing remarkable. 

Her flight to Paris would depart so early that sleep was not a viable option. All of her affairs were settled, or would at least be very easy to settle, except for one. 

Mitsuru meditated on the phone mounted to her kitchen wall. 

It was just a friendly check-in, Mitsuru reasoned to herself, picking up the receiver and dialing his number. Mitsuru would congratulate him on his promotion, apologize for not calling to do so earlier, and inquire after his health. 

Just a check in, Mitsuru reiterated, her heart racing as the line began to ring. 

At 11pm in the evening. After three years of no contact. 

She slammed the phone down against the cradle, shaking. 

“Get a hold of yourself,” Mitsuru hissed out loud. Excuses were easy to come by. She was not the type to take the easy way out or talk herself out of a difficult task. Mitsuru dialed the number to the station again, and keyed in his extension, holding her breath. 

 _This is Lieutenant Akihiko Sanada with the Tatsumi Port Island Police Station-_  

Mitsuru dropped her head, the taut fear in her chest instantly collapsing with relief. Whether the relief was felt at the sound of his voice, or his absence, Mitsuru wasn’t sure. 

 _I am either away from my desk or on another call. Leave a message at the tone and I will return your call as soon as possible._  

“Akihiko. . . It’s Mitsuru,” she took a deep breath and touched the bridge of her nose with a wince. Even when she was talking to a machine, Mitsuru sounded infantile. 

“I honestly am not sure what I was planning to say,” she added, the bubble of nervousness re-inflating in her chest. “I’ve been thinking about the Iori’s wedding a lot lately. I don’t think I’ve ever had so much champagne in my life.” 

Mitsuru closed her eyes and rested her head back against a cupboard with a muted sigh.

* * *

  

 _Mitsuru crossed her arms against her chest, her eyes scrutinizing the details of the outdoor pavilion that had been converted into a open dance floor for Iori’s wedding. Though Mitsuru was not a lover of flowers, she was impressed with Chidori’s skill for arranging a wide assortment of roses, lilies, poppies, and irises into a seamless fragrant landscape._  

_Her father most likely never pictured such a wedding at Yakushima, though Mitsuru thought he would have been delighted to see so many happy faces in his home._

_A smile flickered across her face as she surveyed the gathering. She wanted to ensure everyone was enjoying themselves. Mitsuru looked to the bar and found Akihiko seated at a stool with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder. When she saw him emerge from his guest room at Yakushima, she’d estimated the bow tie would stay knotted for the exact duration of the ceremony._  

 _Akihiko had exceeded her expectations and left it on for a full ten minutes after the ceremony closed. He sipped on a glass of water as Mitsuru smiled at him, and he replied with a professional nod before shifting his attention back to their friends on the dance floor._  

 _The bride and groom had departed on their honeymoon hours ago, but not before Chidori had indulged Amada in one dance. Junpei had taken the opportunity to engage Fuuka in a lively shuffle._ _Mitsuru’s eyes twinkled in amusement as she watched Amada spin Fuuka around his finger before pulling her back into a foxtrot. Her friends were dressed impeccably. Aigis was spinning circles around Koromaru in a flowing green dress, and Koromaru playfully nipped at her hem as he tried to keep in his dapper custom-made tuxedo.  Yukari was wearing a pink summer dress while Fuuka was dressed in a shimmering grey dress that swept against the floor._  

 _“There you are!” Yukari exclaimed, nearly crashing into Mitsuru with a flute of champagne._  

 _“Yukari,” Mitsuru gasped, trying to escape from her friend’s grasp. “I’ve had far too much. Someone needs to make sure the other guests-”_  

 _“Oh no you don’t!” Yukari retorted, firmly wrapping Mitsuru’s fingers around the champagne flute. “Don’t even try that CEO crap tonight! Besides, tonight’s a celebration! Someone actually_ married _Junpei!”_  

_Mitsuru dubiously raised the glass to her nose._

_“Drink up!” Yukari ordered, tipping the base of the glass back. Mitsuru spluttered and Yukari was hit with a fit of laughter. Soon, Mitsuru found herself being towed back to the dancefloor, where Amada was beckoning her with his finger._  

 _“Mitsuru-san,” he cooed, his cheeks rosy from alcohol and dancing. “I_ know _you can dance.”_  

 _Mitsuru gave him her best attempt at a sisterly glare, complete with a disappointed shake of her head._  

 _“Amada-”_  

 _“I’ll beg,” Ken threatened. “I’ll get down on one knee, like I’m proposing to you-”_  

 _“You better do it, senpai!” Yukari shouted as Aigis suddenly appeared and dragged her into the center of the dance floor. Mitsuru shook her head again and sighed._  

 _“Very well,” she acquiesced, the tipsy smile on her face becoming a wide grin as Amada offered her a gallant bow and took her hand. Mitsuru could not control her laughter as Amada tried to emulate the grand steps of a Waltz. Mitsuru found the laughter so unbearable, that she had to stop and hug herself until she had regained sense of her faculties. Mitsuru caught a glance of Akihiko, who quickly looked away from her, a fresh glass of water in his hand._  

 _“Let’s go for a walk on the beach,” Amada suggested with bright eyes. “I need some seaside inspiration for my next set of blockbuster dance moves.”_  

 _Mitsuru opened her mouth to decline, her eyes sweeping the crowd reluctantly. With the party in full swing and every guest with a smile on their face, she failed to find enough support to say no._  

 _“All right, Amada,” Mitsuru said intrepidly._  

 _“All right?” Amada repeated incredulously, grasping Mitsuru’s shoulders. “All right! I’ll grab the refreshments.”_  

 _Mitsuru watched Amada with a soft laugh as he practically skipped to the bar. She found her gaze being pulled in by Akihiko but when she wagered a smile to him, he quickly turned away from her and said something to Amada. Amada frowned in response._  

 _Confused, she watched the brief and muted exchange between the two friends end with Amada lightly clapping Akihiko’s back. Amada quickly returned to Mitsuru on the dance floor, armed and ready with two glasses of champagne._  

 _“Let us talk of serious things,” Amada said, scrunching up his eyebrows and puffing out his chest as he passed Mitsuru her glass._  

 _He offered her his arm with a mocking grunt and Mitsuru shook her head in exasperation as she slipped her arm through his._  

 _She didn’t need to ask if he was imitating a certain individual._  

 _Amada’s silliness dissipated as soon as the sounds of the tide rolling out to sea replaced the noise of the wedding party. Mitsuru was starting to feel dizzy from the champagne, so they found a smooth piece of driftwood, and Mitsuru held the train of her gold gown as she carefully took a seat._  

 _Neither of them commented on the full moon in the sky, though she could feel Amada shared in Mitsuru’s unease._  

 _“Akihiko-san’s  in love with you,” Amada said plainly, sipping his champagne._  

 _Mitsuru nearly dropped her glass into the sand._  

 _“Did those last four glasses just hit or are you actually surprised, Mitsuru-san?”_  

 _“Don’t be absurd, Amada,” Mitsuru murmured as her head started to throb. “Akihiko and I are very good-”_  

 _“_ Very good friends _. We know,” Amada said, taking his suit jacket and draping it over Mitsuru’s shoulders. “The problem with that is, if I had been dancing with Aigis-san, Yukari-san, or Fuuka-san back there, I wouldn’t have gotten chewed out like I just did a few minutes ago.”_  

 _Social gatherings set Akihiko on edge, Mitsuru reasoned. The personal nature of Iori’s wedding notwithstanding, Akihiko was simply being a good friend when he attended the events Mitsuru invited him to. That explanation would do, she decided._  

 _“He’s being a good friend,” the argument sounded more airtight in her head._  

 _“Of course!” Amada agreed brightly, taking the champagne from Mitsuru’s hand and bringing it to his mouth. He seemed unsurprised when Mitsuru did not ask him to return her drink._  

 _“Just like when he would step in front of you after a shadow cast a fire spell in your direction. He was definitely just being a good friend when he flew three extra hours after a match in Morocco just to visit you for half a day in Paris-”_  

 _Akihiko was a protector for all of his friends, Mitsuru countered in her mind. He treated all of them with the same brand of tough love and would go to similar lengths for them as well. Although. .  ._  

 _Mitsuru swallowed, unable to deny how the strange pull of his eyes always left her feeling small, but not necessarily in a bad way. She had always thought the tension between them had been a result of the antithetical nature of their personas. Their similarities only added another layer of complexity to their dynamic._  

 _“When I see you two looking at each other,” Amada continued, taking another drink from Mitsuru’s champagne flute. “It’s like this whole other world exists, and only you two can go there. I wish I could paint it.”_  

 _Mitsuru shook her head as he spoke, touching her forehead delicately. Everyone had been too liberal with the spirits tonight, she decided. She couldn’t imagine the conversations the others were having if Amada was speaking like this._  

_Mitsuru felt as though her head was being put through a vice when she tried to flatten Amada with a glare. She dropped her head into her hands with a soft groan. This was appalling. Instead of keeping the champagne glass in her hand as a prop as she usually did, Mitsuru had allowed herself to become inebriated._

_“By the way,” Amada plodded on.  “As an addendum to my earlier point: If I took any of our other wonderful friends out on a moonlight stroll, with two glasses of champagne,_ alone _,” Amada enunciated after he swallowed another gulp of champagne. “Akihiko-san_ definitely _wouldn’t have followed me.”_  

 _“Followed you?”_  

 _Amada quickly downed the tiny amount of champagne remaining in Mitsuru’s glass before quickly standing up._  

 _The sound of footsteps kicking against the sand brushed against her ears. With a great deal of effort, Mitsuru turned around to see Akihiko approaching, his tall frame coldly illuminated in the moonlight._  

 _“Akihiko-san,” Ken said brightly. Mitsuru watched as he sidled up to Akihiko with a grin. Akihiko frowned and passed Amada a bottle of water._  

 _“I need you to find Fuuka and make sure she’s all right,” Akihiko instructed. “Yukari may have been a little too hell bent on making sure everyone had a good time.”_  

 _“Looks like she skipped someone, Akihiko-san!” Amada laughed before bolting back toward the lights of Yakushima Manor._  

 _Mitsuru greeted Akihiko with a muted smile, cupping her chin in her hand. He sat down next to her with a heavy sigh and passed her the second water bottle._  

 _“Drink it slowly,” he warned._  

 _Mitsuru felt her face burn in embarrassment._  

 _“I appreciate the concern,” she said slowly, trying to remember what she sounded like when she was speaking to an insubordinate employee. “However, I am in full command of my-”_  

 _Mitsuru hiccuped sharply. Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide in shock. She made the mistake of looking over to Akihiko, who was staring at her sternly._  

 _“Mitsuru,” he said seriously, his lips lifting into a sudden smile. “You are_ drunk _.”_  

 _“How dare you-”_  

 _Akihiko let out a loud guffaw as Mitsuru emitted another hiccup._  

 _“Almost as drunk as Ken,” he added._  

 _“I let my guard down,” she groaned dismally, covering her her eyes with her hand._  

 _“Drink the water,” Akihiko said, running his hands over his knees. “And don’t be so hard on yourself. You need to have fun like this more often.”_  

 _Mitsuru shook her head emphatically at Akihiko as she sipped from the water bottle._  

 _“Excuse me, but aren’t you being a little hypocritical?” The words stuck to her mouth like molasses. Even so, they hit their mark and Mitsuru stifled a laugh as the smile instantly fall from Akihiko’s face._  

 _“_ Hypocritical _?” He repeated loudly._  

 _“Hypocritical,” Mitsuru snickered. “Aigis and Yukari must have asked you to dance at least three times tonight, and I lost count of the number of times I saw Amada try to sneak a shot glass into your hand. You didn’t even sip your champagne after you finished your toast!”_  

 _Akihiko looked away, mumbling._  

 _“I beg your pardon,” Mitsuru said playfully, scooting closer to Akihiko and cupping her ear. “Since I’m drunk, I didn’t hear you.”_  

 _“Someone has to keep an eye on things.”_  

 _“Oh, I understand now, Akihiko,” Mitsuru said with a businesslike nod. “Since I’m in desperate need of_ “ _fun”, You’ve taken it upon yourself to police the wedding. That would explain the stern reprimand you gave Amada.”_  

 _“That’s not it,” Akihiko said defensively. “He was being disrespectful.”_  

 _Mitsuru’s smile wavered in confusion._  

 _True, Amada was no longer the serious-eyed boy they knew from their days of fighting shadows. He’d relaxed a great deal as he progressed through Gekkoukan and had even become a renowned flirt during his time there._  

 _Like Akihiko, Mitsuru had always had a special place in her heart for the youngest member of S.E.E.S. When Amada had informed her that despite his high test scores, he would be unable to afford college, Mitsuru had stepped in and offered him a loan to pay for his studies._  

 _Amada had responded with skepticism, wondering if he’d have to somehow work off his debt to the Kirijo Group once he graduated. Art Majors weren’t really known for their technological expertise, he had said, or for their diligence in paying off debts. Mitsuru assured him that the scholarship was private, and suggested that Amada could pay her back once he made it big in the high-end San Francisco art market._  

 _“Akihiko,” she said softly. “Amada was enjoying himself, as were the others. There was no disrespectful behavior here tonight.”_  

 _“Mitsuru,” Akihiko exhaled. “This is your home. Even though you say it’s our home too, we’re still your guests. We don’t get to play games with you.”_  

 _Akihiko’s last sentence revived the dull throb in Mitsuru’s head. She looked down at her water bottle and frowned, thinking she had probably sipped her water too fast._  

 _“Games?”_  

 _“Ken thinks. . .” Akihiko frowned. “He thinks I have feelings for you or that - we have feelings for each other or something-”_  

 _“Feelings,” she said the word listlessly, struggling to keep her eyes open._  

 _“He got this hare-brained scheme to try and prove something tonight, which was completely out of line-”_  

 _“Is he correct?”_  

 _He looked at her like she had slapped him across the face. Akihiko stood up quickly and dusted himself off._  

 _“You’re drunk. We’re going back to the-”_  

 _“I could never speak for you, Akihiko,” Mitsuru hummed, propping her arms to her side to stabilize herself as her vision began to whirl. She tried to blink away the fogginess threatening her eyes before she continued her thought._  

 _“However, after seriously considering the matter I truly-”_  

 _“Don’t,” Akihiko growled. Mitsuru stopped, feeling her chest constrict. Akihiko inhaled sharply and averted his gaze. “Don’t say something you wouldn’t say to me sober.”_  

 _The world kept spinning and Mitsuru smiled as she looked up into the face of the swollen moon._  

 _“I’d truly like to have dinner with you, Akihiko.”_  

 _Akihiko was silent and Mitsuru decided this was a fine opportunity to rest her eyes for just a moment._  

 _When she opened her eyes, Mitsuru was blinded by the morning light breaking through the curtains of her bedroom. Mitsuru looked to the clock on her nightstand and found a freshly made protein shake atop a handwritten note._  

Sunday at 7. You pick the place, but remember who you’re going with.

 P.S. You handled your liquor better than the rest, but that’s not saying much. Call me when you can walk again.

* * *

“I should have asked you to marry me,” Mitsuru laughed bitterly, wiping her eyes. “But I was so afraid that it would sound like an order, and I never wanted you to feel subordinate to me, Akihiko.”

Mitsuru drew back her shoulders and nodded gravely.

“Despite all the mistakes I’ve made, Akihiko, I hope you don’t think poorly of me. You are still . . . precious to me. Whatever happens next, I want you to know that I’m honored to have been in your life.”

_If you are satisfied with your message, please press one. To delete this message and re-record, please press two._

Mitsuru pushed her finger to the dial pad, her face contorting with effort to stem the tears slipping down her cheeks.

_Message deleted. To record a new message, press one. To end the call, press two._

This was no time to take risks.

Mitsuru screwed her eyes shut and made her selection. If Akihiko thought Mitsuru was undertaking anything that crossed the thin blue line of the law, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw her to Kurosawa. At least, Mitsuru had to assume as much.

_This call will now disconnect. Goodbye._

Mitsuru gently replaced the receiver on the wall, swallowing hard.

“Goodbye,” she whispered.

* * *

 

The next morning, before the sun rose, Mitsuru hung the photo of her and her friends above the desk in her office. She memorized the fine lines of her friend’s features, admiring how each of them had grown since their days at Gekkoukan. Each of them, with the exception of Aigis, bore fine lines around their lips and eyes. To Mitsuru they were badges of experience, failures, successes, and an unbreakable bond.

Mitsuru stepped back and took one last look at the photo before she picked up the single overnight bag resting next to her feet and left her apartment without looking back.

 

* * *

 

**December**

Akihiko was outnumbered.

He looked for an opening to his left and smothered a growl as Fuuka closed the gap between the balcony door and Aigis, arms crossed against her chest in total seriousness.

Akihiko’s eyes darted to the right, where Yukari had taken a wide stance and dropped her hands to her sides, looking like some tiny henchman. Aigis was facing him head-on, blue eyes blasting into him accusingly.

He strained his neck, searching around the blockade for Junpei.

“How about a little help, Junpei?”

“Sorry, senpai!” Junpei shouted from the kitchen. Akihiko heard the door to the refrigerator open. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“Looks like I’m on own,” Akihiko hissed to himself, his muscles twitching.

“Akihiko-san,” Aigis said tightly. “You have been awake for over 48 hours and require rest. If I must, I will remove you forcibly.”

“Just leave the next steps to us, senpai,” Fuuka agreed. “We can handle this for a few hours.”

Akihiko sighed.

In his department, police officers were mandated to be on shift for no more than twelve hours at a time.  Akihiko had grossly exceeded that limit, but as he reminded himself, he wasn’t here as a police officer. Besides, if he argued too vehemently against the three women he had chastised earlier, he’d only be making himself into a hypocrite.

“Fine,” he relented, running a hand through his hair. God knows he was in need of shower and a shave. He was no good to anyone in this state, anyway.

“Remember, senpai - A good man always knows when he’s been licked,” Junpei shouted from the kitchen, peeling his mouth away from a carton of milk to give Akihiko a thumbs up.

Akihiko sneered to himself as he trudged down the hallway in defeat. Fuuka and Yukari remained in the living room as Aigis dutifully trailed behind Akihiko.

Dazed, Akihiko walked into an open bedroom and turned to face Aigis as she stopped just outside the door. He fixed her with a cantankerous glare, which Aigis met with her winning smile before she pulled the door close. When Akihiko didn’t hear her footsteps retreat, he realized she had stationed herself outside his door.

Akihiko looked around the room.

“Shit,” he whispered, his eyelids fluttering shut with the dull nausea in his gut.

Without realizing it, Akihiko had marched directly into Mitsuru’s bedroom.

He flopped over onto the bed and bitterly inhaled her scent, still imbedded into the linen.

Akihiko plunged into a dreamless sleep with a grimace on his face as Mitsuru’s disappearance left one more knife-wound in his chest.

* * *

 

When he emerged from his sleep, Akihiko quickly cleaned himself up before regrouping with the others. He walked into the living room to find Aigis reading a newspaper on the sofa. Fuuka was quietly washing dishes in the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re up!” Fuuka chirped, coming out to greet him with a cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” he replied hoarsely.

“Hopefully it’s okay,” Fuuka said hesitantly.

“Relax, Fuuka. I’m used to police station coffee, so it’s nice to taste something other than grounds,” Akihiko flashed her a reassuring smile as he moved into the living room. “What time is it? What have you all been doing?”

“Nearly 11am,” Aigis responded from the living room, folding her newspaper. “Junpei-san and Yukari-san went to buy more household necessities before looking for the best Tres Leches in Paris.”

Akihiko furrowed his eyebrows, his coffee mug frozen halfway to his lips.

“How many restaurants in Paris claim to have the best Tres Leches in Paris, Aigis?”

“37.”

“Did you tell them that before they left?”

Aigis paused, puzzled.

“They did not ask.”

Akihiko laughed mirthlessly before dropping his head to the back of the sofa.

“Oh dear,” Fuuka said, her voice yielding a hint of frustration. “I’ll call them back here right now. There’s no point in running themselves ragged looking for a needle in a haystack. Right, senpai?”

“Thanks, Fuuka.”

“Yukari-san called Mitsuru-san’s driver,” Aigis added. “He informed her that Mitsuru-san came back to the flat to change. He provided us the location of the restaurant where he drove Mitsuru-san afterward. We were waiting for you to awake before investigating.”

Akihiko nodded his approval.

“Did you look at the menu?”

“The restaurant does not serve Tres Leches,” she confirmed, sounding disappointed.

“Well, she went there for a reason, so let’s check it out anyway.”

“I’ll message Yukari-san to let her know.”

Fuuka needed to work on a few projects for her engineering firm, so Akihiko and Aigis decided to leave on foot. Seeing the slick pavement outside, Fuuka armed them with a few umbrellas and to-go thermoses filled with fresh coffee.  

“Please call me if you need anything at all!”

As they approached their destination, Akihiko judiciously took in the surroundings. The neighborhood certainly fit the upscale type of place Mitsuru would frequent, but Akihiko was hardly reassured.

“She wasn’t here, Aigis,” he decided.

Aigis frowned.

“Should we go in and speak to someone? Just to be certain?”

“Yeah,” Akihiko said, looking around at the boutiques and cafes. “Would you mind? I’d like to check out the outside a bit more.”

Aigis went inside and Akihiko slowly digested his environment. Even if she hadn’t stayed here, Mitsuru would have needed the means to get somewhere else. He eyes stopped on the stairs to the Metro station.

He popped his neck with a sigh before pushing his knuckles together, turning around to scan the buildings on the other side of the Seine. The Metro was a stretch. He had always joked that Mitsuru had folklore level knowledge of underground mass transit. She’d taken taxis before, but that was about as close to public transportation as Mitsuru got.

He turned back to the stairway to the Metro station, suddenly feeling that he was too quick to dismiss the nexus point.

All of the existing information Akihiko had told him Mitsuru had not been playing in her usual sandbox prior to her disappearance. If she really had been hiding something, she would have done a fair amount of artful dodging to keep up the appearance of business as usual.

Aigis exited the restaurant, shaking her head.

“The maître d **'** said that Mitsuru-san has not accessed her usual table in over a year.”

“Aigis,” Akihiko moved his thumb over his lip with his brow furrowed as he stared at Aigis. “Where would you go if you didn’t want to be followed?”

She seemed to reel momentarily at the question, her eyes wildly searching the pavement. Aigis looked up after a moment and looked to the Metro station.

“Mitsuru-san could avoid being detected by a person in a subground station, but-”

“Not a surveillance camera,” Akihiko finished.

* * *

Instead of asking Fuuka to undertake a covert and illegal hacking operation, Akihiko hedged his bets on engaging in some friendly police banter with the officer assigned to the station. The officer was more than willing to help a fellow civil servant, and did Aigis and Akihiko the favor of not asking too many questions.

They watched in a dimly lit service box as a loop of black and white surveillance played out on a small television screen. The officer fast forwarded through hours of footage until the timer reached 7pm. The officer slowed down the replay, as three pairs of eyes critically scanned the throng of people.

“Stop,” Aigis directed. “Please, go back to 19:23:16.”

The officer backed up the footage.

“Pause, please. There, Akihiko-san,” Aigis said, pointing to the screen. Akihiko templed his fingers and sighed, narrowing his eyes on the woman whose eyes were locked on to the camera lens.

Mitsuru was staring straight at him, her eyes revealing a trace of alarm.

“Gotcha,” he told her ghost.

* * *

“The Paris Metro system has over 303 stations, 16 lines, and 3 commuter rails,” Aigis dictated as they climbed the Metro stairs and returned above-ground. “Any attempt to find corresponding surveillance footage of Mitsuru-san at each station would take-”

“Stop right there, Aigis,” Akihiko muttered, turning to his friend. “We’re not taking the Iori-Takeba method of investigation.”

“Right,” Aigis said, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry. I often forget that I can overload others with irrelevant data.”

“Don’t apologize for your strengths, Aigis,” Akihiko said firmly. “You have access to that information from your mainframe, don’t you? Maps? Restaurant menus?”

“Yes,” Aigis confirmed.

“How many Spanish or Mexican restaurants are within a mile of a Paris Metro station?”

“17.”

“The Kirijo school Mitsuru was looking into was in Mexico. It’s not a coincidence she came back with a Mexican delicacy the night she spoke to Iori.”

“Of those restaurants, eight specialize in Mexican cuisine,” Aigis reported energetically. “Of those eight, three serve Tres Leches.”

 


	7. Ghosts

**October**

Mitsuru blinked out over the dizzying landscape of man made structures that stretched to the horizon before settling her head back against her seat. Flying in the main cabin of an airplane with a forged passport was the most recent item on the long list of first time experiences Mitsuru had had in the last several months. However, considering the imperative of laying low, Mitsuru was happy to accept the travel arranged by Perez and his wife.

Her plane was about to land in Mexico City.

Mitsuru pushed her shoulders back and stretched her neck from side to side, her body aching from the virtually nonstop flights.

She had arrived in Paris two evenings ago and had been welcomed at the airport by Josue Perez and his wife Marcella (the saucy cook from Poco Hermasillo). Their niece, Emilia was still at school. After greeting the couple, Mitsuru had asked if they might take her to see an old acquaintance. They seemed puzzled by the request, but happy to oblige.

In fact, before she had left Port Island, Mitsuru had contacted a former professor whom she had bonded with during her university days in Paris. The professor taught business and practiced law, but most importantly, he could be trusted with a secret. Mitsuru explained this to the Perez family gently before asking them to sign documents which would designate Josue Perez the Executor of the Kirijo Estate.  

Perez and his wife had exchanged stunned looks at this appeal.

Mitsuru assured the couple that while there would be some kinks to work out in the the event of her death, Mitsuru’s Japan-based lawyer as well as her associate in Paris would handle the logistics.

“You may trust that your company will be safely guarded. However. . . is there no one else you can entrust with this duty, my dear?” Josue had pressed.

No one, Mitsuru had answered.

“I know I have no right to ask you for this,” Mitsuru had added. “But it is critical that my friends are removed from whatever repercussions follow in the wake of my death. They must not be put in jeopardy.”

The couple was silent for a moment as they again exchanged somber glances.

“I sincerely hope to never assume the responsibility that you have honored me with. However, if the circumstance befalls us . . . your loved ones will want to know the truth,” Josue Perez had said gravely.

“Whether you protect from the truth,” Mitsuru had replied. “Or protect from the consequences of truth, it won’t matter. I only ask for your family’s goodness and strength to shield those most dear to me. I trust your judgement, Mr. Perez; Mrs. Perez.”

Josue had signed the documents presented by Mitsuru’s trusted confidante with the solemn oath that he would do all in his power to protect Mitsuru’s S.E.E.S. allies. They returned to the Perez’s home where Marcella soon filled the walls of their quaint apartment with the aroma of tostadas, chicharron, and churros.

After dinner, Josue Perez had provided Mitsuru with details about Alejandro’s activities in Agua Prieta. The two only rested from their information session when Emilia had interrupted to ask if she could braid Mitsuru’s hair.

The next morning, under the careful watch of Marcella, Mitsuru savored a breakfast of atole and tamales while Emilia practiced her French. Josue delivered Mitsuru to the airport with misty eyes.

“I am indebted to you, Kirijo-san,” he had murmured, clutching her hand firmly.

Mitsuru had affirmed her allegiance to Josue and his family before correcting him. She would never be able to completely absolve the Kirijo Group for its role in the heinous crimes in Mexico and Lebanon, but she could take the first steps to stop the activities of a few rogue members.

At that point, Josue had given her a small, woven bracelet. It was made by Emilia, but she had apparently been too shy to give it to Mitsuru herself.

 

* * *

 

“You stick out, boss.”

Exhausted, Mitsuru had no response to Alejandro’s greeting inside the international arrivals gate. She blinked back at him silently as he handed her a plastic bag. Inside she found a baseball cap, a pair of jeans, a plain white shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes.

Mitsuru had the good sense not to argue, but when she emerged from the bathroom stall and faced her reflection in the mirror, she couldn’t help but sigh in defeat. The shirt was at least two sizes too big, and the jeans weren’t a much better fit.

She just needed a two-handed katana, and she would be a mirror image of Junpei Iori.

Thankfully, Alejandro said nothing about her drastically changed appearance as he led her to a battered sedan in the sun-drenched parking lot.

“Try to rest,” Alejandro said to Mitsuru as he opened the backseat door for her. “It’s a long drive.”

Mitsuru did not have try. As soon as her head touched the backseat, sleep came to her fast and heavy.

 

* * *

 

 

_“The dead can see the future, you know.”_

_Shinjiro Aragaki stood next to her on the beachfront property of Yakushima Manor in a navy shirt and long pants, his hair loosely gathered in a ponytail. The waves crashed with a dull roar into the sand as they followed the rising sun in mutual silence._

_Mitsuru turned to him as he continued to squint his eyes against the steady climb of the sun._

_“It’s not like looking down from the top of a mountain on a clear day,” he explained. “More like driving a car that’s suddenly at the top of a hill. Your stomach is filled with this sick, light airy feeling as you drop down, but you get a quick glimpse of what’s coming before it folds out in front of you.”_

_Mitsuru turned away from him and began to walk along the beach, hugging herself from the chill and basking in the warm light at the same time._

_His footsteps padded along in the sand behind her._

_“I have to do this, Shinjiro,” she said above the sound of the waves, her eyes cast out over at the ocean. “It’s not just about my family’s legacy anymore. . . I have to do it because it’s the right thing to do.”_

_“I know you, Mitsuru,” Shinjiro said. Mitsuru stopped and turned around._

_“I know what you’re planning to do,” he continued. “I know you won’t stop until you’ve done what you think is right. But you need to know there are consequences for every action,” Shinjiro concluded, sauntering toward her._

_“I’m fully aware of that,” Mitsuru responded softly, looking away quickly._

_“I’m not talking about your job, moron. I’m talking about your life,” Shinjiro balked, fearlessly nudging her shoulder. She simply glowered down at the shore._

_“Let me lay this out real simple for you,” Shinjiro resumed softly, crossing his arms and meeting Mitsuru face-on._

_“If you go there and you die alone in some god forsaken desert, you’re going to have face me. Don’t get me wrong, you’re always welcome here, but on a temporary basis. If I see you here in a more permanent way,” Shinjiro took a menacing step toward her._

_“You and I are going to have a real problem.”_

_Mitsuru turned away from him and closed her eyes as the ocean breeze combed her hair._

_“If by some miracle, you live,” Shinjiro continued with a grim smile, his voice no less serious than before. “You’re gonna to have to face_ him _. I gotta say, if I were faced with those prospects, death would be looking mighty kind.”_

 _“Claiming to be_ ‘nice’ _now, Shinjiro? This is indeed a strange dream,” Mitsuru said mildly, kneeling down to brush the sand away from buried shell. He crouched down next to her and Mitsuru watched as he took his time smoothing his fingers over the shell’s every edge and point._

_“Oh, Aki’s still plenty nice,” Shinjiro said finely. “Just until someone he cares about is in danger.”_

_She didn’t reply. Instead, Mitsuru stood up and waded into the water, embracing the strength she felt swelling in her heart as she marched toward the sun._

_“I’m not afraid,” she stated softly, her eyes closed. “Besides, you’re exaggerating. Akihiko chose to follow his own path. The path I take is no concern of his.”_

_“How long’s it been now?”_

_The water sloshed as Shinjiro appeared next to her._

_“Eleven years,” Mitsuru murmured, understanding his question immediately._

_“Time flies,” Shinjiro whistled, kicking his feet around in the water. “And yet, here we are. Me, still a foul-mouthed asshole and you still a blind, stubborn idiot.”_

_“Your point being?” Mitsuru said impatiently._

_“The_ point being _, Mitsuru, is that time is moot when it comes to our ragtag group of misfits. Don’t get me wrong, I mean, you’ve obviously aged_ horribly _. What are you now, fifty? Sixty?”_

_Mitsuru made a very unladylike scoff and kicked a wave of water in Shinjiro’s direction, causing him to snort. Shinjiro looked over to her contemplatively._

_“After watching you idiots in the Abyss of Time, I realized. . . we’re all of us bound to each other, Mitsuru. Even if someone walks away, it’s never long before the gravity of our bond pulls us back. Even death can’t really separate us,” Shinjiro said, moving a strand of Mitsuru’s hair away from her eyes._

_“You and Aki always had your own little version of that, except. . .” Shinjiro paused as he laughed vibrantly. Mitsuru squeezed her eyes shut and felt an ache in her heart when she realized how long it had been since she’d heard him laugh._

_If she was feeling this way, it wouldn’t be long before she woke up._

_“It was different. . . Like you two were a pair of damn magnets. Pulling each other in or pushing each other away. It could be a real riot to watch when you guys were in a pushing phase. In the end, no matter how long it took or how far apart you were, you always came back to each other.”_

_Shinjiro slipped further into the ocean until the water reached his thighs. Mitsuru followed him watched as the water lapped against her hips._

_“Aki left for his own reasons. Not very good reasons, but the point is . . .”_

_Shinjiro stopped to lick his lips, his eyes narrowing on Mitsuru._

_“When he gets wind of what you’re doing, Mitsuru, he’s not going to just sit by. He’ll be all the fist and fury that he was as an obnoxious teenager. He’ll come for you. . . He’ll find you. I seriously hope you’re ready to handle him when that happens.”_

_Mitsuru looked down and found herself suddenly in the hull of a small boat. Shinjiro was in front of her with one foot on the beach and his other foot on the rim of the boat._

_“Time to wake up,” Shinjiro said softly, pushing the boat from shore. Mitsuru found herself without a voice and could only look at her friend sadly as he raised his hand to her._

_“Remember, Mitsuru,” he warned slowly as the boat slowly drifted from the shore. “Live or die - You’re in deep shit.”_

_He turned away and began ambling along the beach as Mitsuru felt the tide rip her out to sea._

 

* * *

 

 

Mitsuru felt as though she were still swaying on a boat when they arrived in Hermasillo.

Alejandro had driven the whole time and had only stopped for fuel and water. Mitsuru suspected he was just as famished as she was, but neither of them were complaining.

Their safe house was a small apartment unit located above a local bar. Alejandro was on friendly terms with the owner, but said nothing else about it to Mitsuru as he led her through a backdoor and up a narrow staircase.

Alejandro illuminated the room by pulling on a small string. A card table and two folding chairs were set up in the corner and to the left, a leather sofa showing a few tears. The kitchen was stuffed into the back, looking more like a designer’s afterthought than a necessity. A flowery apron was hung near the refrigerator and the sparse patch of counter space was occupied with a coffee maker and a few kitchen utensils. Mitsuru spotted doors to a bedroom and bathroom as she focused her eyes back to Alejandro.

“Do you need to rest?” she asked, gently depositing her bag on the ground. “I have some preliminary questions I need to ask you before we start and I’d like to go over a few things-”

“Eat first, boss,”  Alejandro stated listlessly as he donned the flowery apron in the kitchen. “Business later.”

Mitsuru had reached the end of her abilities as polite guest and was not afraid to convey that sentiment to Alejandro through a deep sigh.

Her frustration was instantly dispelled when she took her first bite of Alejandro’s freshly made sincronizadas. Mitsuru had two helpings before she sat back in her seat with a faint smile.

“You are a very talented chef.”

A slight blush seemed to tinge Alejandro’s cheeks as he stared back her.

“Your uncle told me that you believe the cartel will be transporting a number of children across the border soon. Is that correct?”

Alejandro nodded as he began to clear the dishes, still wearing the flowery apron. Mitsuru chose not to comment.

“We will need to get a more precise timeframe, but for now let’s establish a list of objectives and deadlines. Now, you obviously have a list of agenda items you need to cover with me,” Mitsuru remarked, reaching into her bag and pulling out a notebook and a pen.  “But there are a few items I will need to pursue with you as well.”

Mitsuru ripped out a piece of paper and began to write as Alejandro took his seat at the table.

“Here are my expectations,” Mitsuru said, slipping the piece of paper over to Alejandro. He crossed his arms as his eyes roved over the paper. Alejandro looked back up at Mitsuru and nodded in consent.

“Now, if you could,” Mitsuru passed him the notebook and the pen. “Write down your expectations-”

“You gotta shoot a gun and throw a punch, boss.”

Mitsuru blinked.

“Is that all?”

“Basically,” Alejandro deadpanned.

“Very well then,” Mitsuru replied with a serious puff of breath.  “Let’s begin tomorrow morning. I’d like to start with my items in the morning and then address your . . . curriculum. Is that agreeable?”

Alejandro had no qualms, but their first professional disagreement came shortly after when Mitsuru insisted that Alejandro sleep on the bed.

“That loveseat is half your size,” Mitsuru admonished Alejandro as he towered over her nervously. “It is unacceptable for you to sleep there.”

It may have been her imagination, but Alejandro seemed to puff out his chest.

“Auntie would kill me if I put you on the couch, boss.”

“Your aunt is not here,” Mitsuru reminded him, putting her hands on her hips. “You have been driving for over twenty four hours with no rest. You need to be in top physical condition tomorrow if you’re going to working with me.”

Alejandro glowered at her, but Mitsuru could see he was failing to come up with a rebuttal. She drove a hard gaze back at him until he finally let out the tiniest sigh of defeat.

“You’re the boss, boss.”

Mitsuru nodded sternly.

 

* * *

 

They set out the next morning to a valley ridge between Hermasillo and Agua Prieta.

Below them, a straight ribbon of black road went on for miles before disappearing over a hill. Previously, Alejandro and a few of his trusted allies had utilized guerrilla tactics to pick off members of the cartel on this route, which would explain the rather random pattern of targets that had been eliminated.

Mitsuru didn’t necessarily disapprove of the strategy, but she wasn’t here to target the buyers. She needed to launch an assault that would draw the worrying eye of a seller.

The terrain was concerning, though. The lack of twists and turns in the road and the sparse, open desert meant exposure, so a surprise attack would need to be carefully executed with a few contingencies in place.

“What are you thinking, boss?”

Mitsuru squinted at the low rise of the hill at the end of the road.

“Sniper here,” she said, digging her heel into the dirt. “Ballistics and drivers on the ground.”

Above them, a hawk dove after an invisible prey.

“Got a few people who can do the job,” Alejandro murmured with a subtle nod. “Shouldn’t be hard to recruit folks once they hear the target’s the cartel.”

Mitsuru mulled over the barren landscape before crossing her arms.

“Let’s get to work.”

 

 

* * *

 

During the next week, Mitsuru and Alejandro fell into a carefully scheduled routine.

Mitsuru had not been able to negotiate Alejandro into sleeping in the bedroom on a more permanent basis, but she suspected Alejandro preferred the loveseat since it allowed him to start cooking breakfast undisturbed at an early hour. On some days, Mitsuru thought she heard the sounds of a deep soulful voice softly singing, but she had never been able to catch him in the act.

She would emerge from the tiny bedroom every morning and find Alejandro ironing a white button-up shirt. He owned no other pieces of clothing.

Before the sun rose, Alejandro would serve Mitsuru a breakfast of eggs and tortillas. Mitsuru was not allowed to ask questions about the cartel until after she had finished breakfast.

“Eat first,” Alejandro would say in his flowery apron. “Business later.”

Mitsuru soon stopped trying to fight Alejandro’s sole ground rule. After breakfast, they would drive out to the ridge and brainstorm ideas for potential attack routes. They would lay low among the shrubs and rocks to ensure they were not seen by any enemy that might happen to drive by.

“Cartel’s cocky,” Alejandro informed her as she scanned the road below with a pair of binoculars one morning.

No one stood up to them, so they worried little about being targeted. Their biggest concern were rival drug lords, but Mitsuru wasn’t ready to play that angle quite yet. They were only allowed one surprise attack - any subsequent assault would need to be painstakingly undertaken.

After a few hours of carefully mapping the terrain, they would move on to marksmanship and hand-to hand combat. Of the two activities, Mitsuru found the latter to be her least favorite. Sparring with Akihiko had always been enjoyable because he had never held back with her. Even when she was recovering from her motorcycle crash, if she wanted a sparring partner, she always got Akihiko at his best.

Alejandro, on the other hand, was a gentle and immovable giant dead set on making Mitsuru work for every punch. Even when she was trying to throw him to the ground, Mitsuru got the impression she was nothing but a little fly that Alejandro was batting away.

“How am I supposed to get anything from these lessons if you won’t commit fully to the exercise?”

“I ain’t afraid of anything you’re doing, boss,” Alejandro explained with a shrug. “Make me feel threatened and I’ll commit.”

Alejandro, sensing her frustration, would bring in a few weights for her to resume her training with before they moved on to their next exercise.

If Mitsuru wanted a sniper for the job, she had to learn how to use a sniper rifle as well as a short range handgun. This was the point that Josue Perez had made during Mitsuru’s initial meeting and was easily driven in by Alejandro.

Mitsuru proved to be an above average marksman and was encouraged by Alejandro’s hands-off approach. The sniper rifle was her greatest challenge, but Alejandro reminded her that she just needed to know how to set up, load, and account for changes in wind direction. Once she knew the weapon, she could familiarize herself with the appropriate skill set needed to operate it.

After target practice, they would return back to the safe house where Alejandro would prepare dinner. He always cooked something different, and Mitsuru found herself eagerly anticipating his delectable creations. They would go to bed early, and the next morning, Mitsuru would find Alejandro ironing the same white shirt as the morning before.

One morning, Mitsuru woke to find Alejandro’s ironing board unattended.

Mitsuru looked out her window and spotted Alejandro conversing quietly with a short young woman with wild and flowing black hair. When he returned, she looked at him with a questioning glance and a subtle smile.

“Stop smiling, boss,” Alejandro said immediately, his large arms held to out his side defensively.

Mitsuru raised her eyebrows.

“I’m not smiling,” she said simply, breaking into a grin.

“Picked up some info,” Alejandro changed the subject quickly. “Cartel’s on the move.”

“When?” Mitsuru pressed.

“First week of November. They’ll have about sixteen, give or take a few.”

Sixteen children. Mitsuru’s stomach churned at the thought as she sat down at the freshly cleared card table. Alejandro caused the table to squeak as he braced his arms against the sides.

“Time to shop, boss?”

Mitsuru placed her chin in her hand and frowned thoughtfully.

“Dossiers first,” she shook her head. “I’m ready to start vetting applicants. While I’m doing that, I need you to find out whatever you can on their transport. Year, make, model, and any modifications they may have made to the vehicle.”

He nodded to her with a determined frown.

 

* * *

 

  
Alejandro gently deposited a mound of documents along with a mug of tea in front of Mitsuru before leaving the safe house. When he returned a few hours later, Mitsuru had organized the stacks into two separate piles.

“I’ve made my selections,” she informed Alejandro as he filled the folding chair opposite her. “Though I have a few questions.”

Mitsuru laid out two photos on the table.

“Do these two come together or separately?”

Alejandro barely looked down.

“Always together, boss.”

“How fast can they ride?”

Alejandro’s crinkled forehead furrowed even deeper.

“Fast.”

“You’ve clocked them? Remember, we have a very narrow window of opportunity,” Mitsuru emphasized. “They need to be ready to hit a speed of over 100mph on a very short track.”

Alejandro nodded and then shrugged.

“Self-report, boss. References are hard to come by in these parts.”

“That will suffice for now,” she responded, pushing the papers toward Alejandro. "I'll time them myself."

“As for our sniper,” Mitsuru paused as Alejandro stiffened in his chair. She eyed him curiously before reaching for the photo.

“The choice is obvious.”

Alejandro groaned when he looked at the picture. Surprised, Mitsuru leaned forward on the table and searched Alejandro’s expression.

“She is the best,” Mitsuru reasoned, perplexed. “You must agree, otherwise you wouldn’t have submitted her profile.”

“She’s the best,” Alejandro muttered, looking away.

Mitsuru glanced down at the photo again, eyebrows knit. A second look was all she needed. Mitsuru leaned back and successfully veiled the smile tickling her lips.

“Alejandro, do you have a conflict of interest with this woman?”

Alejandro’s head jerked back to Mitsuru, eyes wide.

“That ain’t it, boss-”

“This is the woman you were speaking to this morning, correct?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like that.”

“Then be clear about your grievance with her,” Mitsuru urged. “Articulate yourself.”

Alejandro sighed.

“She’s a _pain_. She’s got an attitude.”

“Does she have difficulty taking direction?”

“Only when it comes from a man,” Alejandro grumbled.

Her previously veiled smile surfaced, and Mitsuru had to look away and purse her lips to keep from chuckling. She contained her amusement enough to look Alejandro in the eye.

“Since I will be issuing orders, I don’t see the problem. If she takes issue with something you say, kindly remind her that _I_ said it. Am I going to have a problem from her?”

“You won’t have a problem, boss,” Alejandro relented, and he seemed to struggle crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Just me.”

 

* * *

 

**December**

Akihiko stifled a shiver as the freezing rain drove against his umbrella. He looked over to Aigis, who was speaking to a young parisienne on the opposite corner of the street. He checked his phone absently, re-reading the message from Fuuka informing him that she had dispatched Yukari and Junpei to one of the Mexican restaurants identified by Aigis.

Aigis had almost immediately relieved Akihiko of his role of questioner after he’d fired off round after round of inquiries on the hapless manager of the previous restaurant. Forget good cop bad cop, Aigis had essentially told him. Akihiko was being too aggressive.

With one lead thoroughly scratched one off their list, they set out to find Poco Hermasillo _._ It was a bit off the beaten trail, hence Aigis asking for a bit of direction from the locals.

Akihiko’s patience was beginning to wane.

With none of his usual resources available, Akihiko was reaching a limit to what he could do with old-fashioned detective work. Lack of time only made Akihiko’s lack of resources all the more frustrating.

He’d called Kurosawa just a few moments ago to inform him that he’d be taking some of his vacation time, but from the way his mentor had sighed, Akihiko knew that his half-truth would only work for so long. Soon, the others would need to return to their lives in Japan. Whatever happened next, Akihiko would need to figure it out on his own.

Aigis jogged up to him.

“I apologize. My navigation features do not work well in inclement weather. Our destination is two blocks north.”

“Let’s go,” Akihiko said tersely.

“Perhaps you should leave the initial questioning to me,” Aigis suggested brightly, easily keeping pace with Akihiko’s long strides.

“Careful, Aigis,” Akihiko swallowed a disgruntled noise as it formed in his throat. “You’re starting to hurt my feelings.”

“I’m sorry, Akihiko-san,” Aigis said woefully.

Akihiko almost told Aigis that it was a joke, but decided against it out of annoyance.

“I was simply trying to follow your advice from earlier this morning. Let’s play to our strengths,” she continued, gently tugging Akihiko to a stop. He looked at her with a weary frown.

“Let’s wait to bring out the big guns,” she grinned.

Her smile was contagious and Akihiko found himself smiling in spite of himself.

“Yeah. Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Poco Hermasillo was packed.

They crammed themselves into a space at the counter where Aigis struck up a conversation with a few regulars.

Soon, she and Akihiko learned that the restaurant was owned by a family from Mexico. Their pozole was the most authentic in Paris and the Tres Leches was in such high demand that if you didn’t order the second the restaurant opened, you weren’t likely to get any for the rest of the day.

Akihiko’s gaze roamed the crowd as Aigis eagerly listened to the avid patrons list their menu recommendations.

The wait staff were difficult to pick out among the horde of people, but Akihiko’s eyes eventually found a little girl in a pink taffeta dress and a white apron zipping from table to table, the tray in her arm laden deep with soups and soft tortillas.

Akihiko nudged Aigis.

“Pink dress, twelve o’clock.”

Aigis looked over and nodded before raising her arm to get the girl’s attention.

She bounced over as soon as she emptied her tray and began pulling straws and silverware out of her apron.

“Bienvenidos, señorita and señor. Our special today is with pork enchiladas with a side of refried beans and rice. Would you care for some our homemade horchata today?” her carefully rehearsed words caused Aigis to smile warmly and even Akihiko had to look away in order to stay stony-faced.

“We would like two glasses of horchata, please,” Aigis said. “But before we order lunch, may I ask you a question?”

The little girl looked up at Aigis and nodded mutely.

Aigis reached into the inside pocket of her rain jacket and retrieved a miniature version of the photo of Fuuka, Aigis, Yukari, and Mitsuru along the Champs-Elysées. Akihiko watched the girl’s reaction carefully as Aigis pointed to Mitsuru in the photo.

“La princesa!” The girl exclaimed instantly, looking up at Aigis with fresh eyes.

The girl seemed to sense she was under Akihiko’s sudden and severe gaze. She began to shrink back, eyes wide with fright when Aigis abruptly stepped on Akihiko’s foot to break his stare. The little girl looked back to Aigis and opened her mouth to speak-

“ _Emilia!_ Order up _._ ”

A short woman in a white apron appeared suddenly behind the counter. The little girl clutched her tray close to her chest as she scuttled away to the kitchen.

The woman eyed Akihiko and Aigis suspiciously before giving them a thin smile.

“Pardon my niece. She has a very active imagination. Can I help you?”

Aigis nodded cautiously.

“We are looking for a friend of ours. We think she may have been here recently,” Aigis said slowly, holding out the picture to the woman.

She took the picture delicately and studied it for a few long moments.

“Sorry,” she said tonelessly, handing the photo back to Aigis. “Haven’t seen her.”

Akihiko pinned her with a disinterested glare. She stared back at him unflinchingly.

“Can I put in an order for you?” She asked him coolly.

“Tres Leches,” Akihiko responded evenly. “If there’s any left.”

She gave him a quick once over before slinging a dish towel over her shoulder.

“Think you got the last one. Lucky you.”

The woman delivered their horchatas and dessert to go, and Akihiko didn’t bother asking any further questions as he dropped some cash on the counter. He collected the cake from the woman with a cold nod, but left the horchatas on the counter before stomping out of the restaurant and into the rain.

“Akihiko-san, wait,” Aigis called after him, running to catch up to his quick stride. She popped an umbrella open over his head before handing him the handle.

“We didn’t talk to any of the other-”

“No need,” he replied darkly as Aigis opened her own umbrella. “Mitsuru was there. That kid’s reaction said it all.”

“But the woman-”

“Aigis, how long does it take for a person to identify someone they know?”

She paused, obviously disconcerted by the question.

“A few seconds, maybe longer depending on their recall-” Aigis answered.

“She looked at that photo for _ten seconds_ , Aigis,” Akihiko snapped. “She wasn’t trying to remember if she knew Mitsuru. She was putting on a show of _not knowing_ Mitsuru.”

“Hey! Over here!”

Akihiko and Aigis looked sharply over to their left, where the little girl in the pink taffeta dress was beckoning them from under a nearby awning. They looked at each other before slowly approaching her hiding spot.

“I’ll get in trouble if Aunt Marcella finds out I’m here,” she whispered, looking around nervously. “So I can’t stay here for long.”

“You know our friend,” Aigis said softly.

The little girl nodded.

“She came here with my big dumb brother.”

“Please. . . Emilia, is it?” Aigis said, bending over slightly to meet the girl’s wide eyed gaze. “We are worried that she might need our help. When did you see her last?”

Emilia hummed in thought.

“We were just starting to serve pozole again, so October I think?”

Akihiko started pacing nearby, unable to reign in the feeling of helplessness that had clouded his mind all morning. What was Mitsuru doing here? Why was she talking to a couple of small time restaurant owners? What was their connection to the school in Mexico?

“She left for a while, but when she came back she stayed at our house,” Emilia added.

The thoughts racing through Akihiko’s head died quickly. He turned around and met the girl’s innocent stare sternly.

“She came back?” he pressed her. Emilia looked back at him distrustfully before nodding slowly.

”A few days after she came here, she stayed with us at our house. She let me braid her hair. Uncle Josue says she’s really important where she comes from. Is she really a princess?” Emilia asked, looking entreatingly to Akihiko.

Akihiko turned away, his stomach roiling.

“Did she tell you where she was going?” Aigis asked softly.

Emilia shook her head.

“Uncle Josue took her to the airport. They were talking a lot about Agua Prieta the night before. . .” Emilia trailed off and focused on her shoes.

“Is that where you’re from?” Aigis asked.

Emilia nodded.

“I don’t go there anymore,” she said gravely. “But my brother Alejo goes there, sometimes. I think she’s there with him.”

“Why do you think that?” Akihiko asked brusquely.

“Princesses always go where they are needed the most,” Emilia said exuberantly before reaching up to pat Aigis’ shoulder. “Don’t worry about la princesa, señorita. I made her a bracelet to protect her from the bad men.”

Without another word, she disappeared down an adjacent alleyway and left Akihiko and Aigis alone in the rain.

 

* * *

 

After having Junpei identify the Tres Leches as the same cake he shared with Mitsuru on their last night in Paris, Akihiko briefed the group on their findings. Then, he informed them that they would be returning to Port Island.

“But. . . you said Mitsuru-senpai is in Mexico,” Fuuka said.

Akihiko squared his shoulders.

“You’re going back to your lives in Japan,” he clarified. “I’m going to Mexico to find Mitsuru and bring her back.”

The group was once again, less than amenable.

“You’re sending us _home_?” Yukari hissed, her hair still soaked from the rain. “Who are you, our _mother_?”

“We did not discuss these terms, Akihiko-san,” Aigis chimed in, sounding slightly irritated.

“You’re going alone?” Fuuka added with worry. “I really don’t think you should go without-”

“Okay, senpai,” Junpei nodded at Akihiko with a serious frown.

The room grew still as the group fell into a stunned silence.  Once again, all eyes were on Junpei.

“Look, just think about this for a minute, guys,” Junpei explained, blushing slightly. “If all five of us in this room head down to Mexico, we’re going to turn some heads - and that won’t help us find senpai. Let’s be smart about it this, okay?”

Akihiko smiled appreciatively at Junpei as the others absorbed his words.

“We need to think about how we can help find Mitsuru-senpai from Port Island,” Junpei concluded.

“You’re right,” Yukari groaned at length, causing Junpei to gasp in surprise.

“We need to keep an eye on things from home,” she continued, shooting Junpei a deathly glare. “If the Kirijo Group has something to do with senpai’s disappearance, we have to be nearby to step in if the situation calls for it.”

“I agree, but,” Fuuka protested amicably. “Akihiko-senpai should not be going to the Mexican border alone. It’s very dangerous, especially if they find out you’re a policeman, senpai.”

Akihiko chewed on the insides of his mouth. He hadn’t even considered that element. He subconsciously looked to Aigis, who was peering at him thoughtfully.

“I will go with you, Akihiko-san,” she said calmly, her previous irritation gone. “We make an excellent team.”

He sighed, and despite a nagging urge to argue with her and send her back to Port Island with the rest of his friends, his judgement as an officer of the law prevailed.

Every seasoned officer needed a partner to keep them in check.

Akihiko knew that the closer he came to the truth behind Mitsuru’s disappearance, the shorter his fuse would become. Aigis leveled him out, forced him to slow down and speak kindly. He hated to admit it, but he needed someone to keep him honest and focused until he found Mitsuru.

“All right, Aigis,” Akihiko said, immediately spurring Fuuka to sigh with relief. “We’ll catch the next flight out. The rest of you - contact us when you get back to Japan. I need you to keep an eye on Chihiro Fushimi. I’m sure the Kirijo Board has already chained her to her desk.”

 

* * *

 

_“What time is it?”_

_Akihiko’s hand froze on the doorknob with a slight grimace. He’d taken care to dress quietly, but he obviously hadn’t been quiet enough._

_“Don’t worry,” Mitsuru said, appearing to have heard his thoughts. “I’ve been awake for a while now.”_

_“It’s almost five. You should rest,” Akihiko said, twisting the handle. He heard her swing her legs over the bed and watched her silhouette as she stretched._

_“Are you going for a run?” She asked._

_“Yeah,” he said hoarsely “I want to try to beat the sun.”_

_“I’ll join you.”_

_Along the coast bordering the Kirijo Family Estate at Yakushima, Akihiko and Mitsuru ran in the darkness of the early morning hour with Koromaru keeping pace for them ahead._

_The Ioris were vacationing in Singapore and Mitsuru had told them to leave Koromaru with her while they were away._

_The kidnapping attempt had followed shortly after._

_Almost a week had passed since Akihiko had taken her home from the hospital, but Mitsuru still wasn’t acting quite like herself and Akihiko still wasn’t sure how to talk to her without sounding like a cop. In her public life, she was just as strong willed and vociferous as ever._

_In the private life she shared with Akihiko, she appeared brittle and vulnerable. He had to wait for her, Akihiko told himself when she would drift off during dinner or request to walk Koromaru alone. If Akihiko pushed her too hard to communicate, it would only satisfy Akihiko’s ego at the cost of Mitsuru’s pride._

_A few days ago, Mitsuru had asked Akihiko if he would join her at Yakushima._

_“No staff,” she quickly added. “Just the three of us.”_

_He couldn’t help but be excited to say yes._

_Now, as they moved steadily along the abandoned shoreline together as a unit, Akihiko felt the need to bring up the issue of Mitsuru’s safety. She needed to act, he thought to himself. There was obviously something hindering her if she wasn’t taking preventative measures to protect herself with a security detail. She could talk to him, Akihiko rehearsed to himself. She could trust him._

_Koromaru barked at him sharply._

_Akihiko was shaken back to reality. He looked over to find Mitsuru not at his side. He looked back and saw her, dropped to the ground with her head between her knees._

_“Mitsuru!” he shouted as he broke into a full on sprint._

_“What is it?” Akihiko asked, only a little breathless as he dropped down in front of her and grasped her uninjured shoulder in one hand and the back of her neck with the other._

_“Shit, I’m sorry, I was worried you hadn’t recovered enough, but I didn’t want to say anything-”_

_She lifted her head and met his gaze. In the dawning light, Akihiko could see the unfallen tears in her eyes._

_“I’m sorry, Akihiko,” she whispered, shaking her head and biting her lip. “I- I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just keep thinking about-”_

_Her breath hitched with emotion and Mitsuru looked away quickly._

_“Mitsuru,” Akihiko murmured. The intense anxiety triggered  by his helpless position almost caused him to feel anger, but faced with Mitsuru’s obvious fear and distress, he only felt the need to hold her._

_“I keep thinking about it,” she hissed under her breath as the tears finally began to fall. “I was so stupid, so idiotic. I could have reacted better, I could have been faster-”_

_“Mitsuru, stop it,” Akihiko reproached her gently, his hands firm on her shoulder and neck. “None of this is your fault, okay? Someone tried to hurt you. You reacted appropriately and saved your own life. Those men will face the full extent of the law, I promise.”_

_She shook her head, the tears still falling. Akihiko felt himself growing more agitated. He wasn’t helping, God, he was only making things worse._

_“If I had only turned a second sooner,” Mitsuru whispered. “None of this would be happening.”_

_Akihiko cocked his head at her, allowing himself to stroke her arm._

_“What? What’s happening, Mitsuru? Talk to me,” he said gently when she looked away._

_Mitsuru took a deep breath._

_“The Board. . . The Board wants me to hire a bodyguard. . . Or-”_

_“You should do that, Mitsuru,” Akihiko rushed to interrupt her. “You need someone looking out for you, someone more level-headed than me,” he added sardonically._

_Mitsuru stared at him, and Akihiko thought he saw a flash of pain in her eyes. Mitsuru shook her head._

_“I can’t, Akihiko. Think of the message it would send-”_

_“What?_ Take another step and I’ll execute you and he’ll get rid of your body? I can break your face and so can this guy? _What sort of message are you worried about here?”_

_“The message that I’m afraid,” Mitsuru said, her voice rising.  “The message that I can’t live my life without someone watching over me, that I can’t move without someone else’s consent. I have worked for the last eight years to live independently of watch dogs, to choose who I-”_

_She fell silent, overwhelmed by another wave of tears._

_Akihiko took a deep breath and did something he would have never done in high school._

_He said nothing._

_Instead, Akihiko pulled Mitsuru into his arms and stroked her hair while she wept. Beside them, Koromaru emitted a soft whine before curling up next to Mitsuru and laying his head in the sand._

 

* * *

 

 

“Akihiko-san.”

Akihiko gasped as he lurched forward in his seat. The landing caught him off guard, and Aigis braced her arms against his shoulder to steady him.

 _Shit_ , he berated himself.

Akihiko covered his face with his hands as the realization hit.

She was going to tell him everything, but he had interrupted her. That morning on the beach, Akihiko had stopped listening after he heard the word ‘bodyguard’ escape Mitsuru’s lips. If he had just kept his mouth shut, she would have told him about the Board’s alternative, and he could have proposed right then and there-

“We have arrived in Tuscon, Arizona, USA,” Aigis said, eagerly looking out the window of the plane.

Akihiko let out an involuntary sigh, shivering from the cold sweat on his skin.

“What time is it?” he mumbled, gratefully accepting as Aigis passed him a bottle of water.

“11:30 p.m., December 31st,” she said with a slight smile. “Tomorrow is a new year.”

 


	8. When the Bell Rings

**November**

 

“You sure about this, boss?”

Mitsuru turned her head against the thin bedroom wall separating her and Alejandro.

“Send her in, Alejandro.”

Alejandro’s heavy steps creaked against the floor of their safe house as he moved toward the door. The door opened and closed, and Mitsuru distinguished a lighter pair of footsteps joining Alejandro’s.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” a woman’s sarcastic tone noted.

“Take a seat and mind your manners,” Alejandro said mildly, returning to his post against the doorframe to the bedroom. He crossed his arms and looked over to Mitsuru, nodded, and faced the other occupant of the apartment.

“Please forgive the partition,” Mitsuru began, directing her voice to the open doorway.

“I get it,” the woman said sternly. “Faces are dangerous. Names are dangerous.”

“True,” Mitsuru quirked her lips to Alejandro, who was still frowning at the woman in the room. “But I must call you something.”

“Ava,” she responded proudly. “What do I call you?”  

“Boss,” Alejandro answered tersely.  

“Works for me,” Ava replied boldly. “We here to discuss the plan? Because if Alejo brings me another hunk of junk to shoot-”

“Perish the thought,” Alejandro responded dourly.

“Ava,” Mitsuru interjected softly, causing both individuals to fall sharply silent.  “Alejandro will go over the specifics of the mission with you after our meeting here.  I requested your presence today because I want you to lead the post-operation phase of our plan.”

Alejandro raised his eyebrows to the woman in the living room. Mitsuru shifted against the wall slightly.

“Post operation?” she repeated bombastically. “Shooting is what I do, lady. I’m good at it.”

“Allow me to explain. We are not targeting just any shipment of illegal goods, Ava.”

“Nobody cares about that,” Ava interrupted sharply. “Drugs, guns, whatever. We’re all here to take down the cartel, regardless of what’s in their damn truck-”

“Children, Ava.”

Ava’s stunned silence permeated throughout the apartment.

“Those school kids,” she murmured at length. “The kids from Agua Prieta?”

“Some of them,” Mitsuru acknowledged. “We suspect they are the first wave of child soldiers and drug traffickers being dispatched to the border.”

“Child soldiers? What are you talking about?”

“They’ve been weaponized and sold to the cartel,” Mitsuru explained, hardly veiling her disgust. “Through process called artificial summoning that’s been grotesquely adapted by a few rogue scientists, these children can call upon a persona.”

Mitsuru swallowed.

“The power of persona harnesses the power of the _other self_   to engage in acts of great violence or great benevolence. I need not explain to you which of these traits the cartel has requested from the seller.”

Mitsuru crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall.

“Our mission is to intercept the children and return them to their families in Agua Prieta. However, even after they are safely returned home, they will still experience the trauma of artificial summoning. The children will need a mentor to help focus their new abilities in a way that’s productive rather than destructive.”

“Lady,” Ava said, her voice wavering slightly. “I don’t have that sort of talent, okay? I shoot. I kill. I’m not so good at nurturing.”

Mitsuru paused, looking to Alejandro. He nodded to her silently.

“Ava,” she began softly. “This morning, Alejandro told me about what the cartel did to your family. He told me the reason you became a sniper.”

Mitsuru thought an explosion might be imminent by the way Alejandro was looking at Ava, but the shouting never came. Instead, she heard a soft sniffle from the living room.

Alejandro took a step away from the door frame toward Ava, the cinches on his nose and forehead running deeper.

“Did he tell you that they didn’t cut my throat deep enough?”

Mitsuru’s eyes dropped to the ground. Even when she wept, Ava’s voice was tough.

“Did he also tell you that those men thought I was too small to make it through the night? Did he tell you how I had to watch my father, mother, and sisters die?”

The sofa cushions stirred and Mitsuru heard Ava’s soft footsteps move around the living room.

“He told me the experience made you the person you are today,” Mitsuru said quietly.

“All I felt was anger,” Ava choked. “So much that I couldn’t get close to them without losing my head. Being far away and looking through scope of a rifle made me feel lighter. I feel strong. Strong enough to stop them-”

“You can,” Mitsuru agreed firmly. “Not just through a weapon, Ava. Lend us your strength as a survivor. Help these children and their families through the anger and the sorrow. Show them they can give the pain a purpose.”

Ava was silent again and Mitsuru could hear her approaching on the other side of the wall.

“So . . . Boss,” Ava said, the lilt in her voice losing a certain edge. “Why are you doing this?”

The memory of her father, holding her close after she first summoned her persona flashed through Mitsuru’s mind. She realized this month marked the eleventh anniversary of his murder.

“The same reason as you, Ava,” Mitsuru said, swallowing the knot in her throat.  “We cannot always choose our circumstances in life. . . But we can choose to allow those circumstances to galvanize us. We can choose to rise.”  


* * *

 

Alejandro left with Ava and returned alone a few hours later with several items checked off of the list Mitsuru had provided him a few days prior.

“That’s a fast bike, boss,” Alejandro said, looking somewhat shell-shocked as he dropped a key into her hand.

“We’ll see,” Mitsuru nodded.  “Where are the other two?”

“Parked them behind the gas station around the corner. Boys’ll pick them up in an hour and meet you on the valley floor. You sure you don’t want me there, boss?”

Alejandro looked concerned.

“That won’t be necessary,” Mitsuru said, smiling. “What’s the status on the other transport?”

“It’s going to take another day, boss. My guy at the shop’s making a few adjustments. Got those specs you wanted, though,” Alejandro said encouragingly. “They’re next to the maps on the shelf.”

“Excellent. I’ll review the information and inform you of any adjustments when you return.”

“About that, boss. . .” he began, looking away from her sheepishly.

Alejandro would be shopping along the border for three days, but he wanted to take Ava with him so she wouldn’t complain about the type of rifle he chose for her. As long as they laid low and Ava kept her temper under control, Mitsuru had no reservations. However-

“If she fights you on the Windrunner, do not back down unless she provides a reasonable explanation.”

Alejandro’s permanent scowl relaxed into surprise.

“Terrain’s steep, boss. Downgrade might be an issue with that model,” Alejandro countered thoughtfully.

“It will take some planning,” Mitsuru granted. “But the weight will maintain balance and reduce collateral. There are high winds on that ridge. Remember that, Alejandro.”

Alejandro smirked, the wrinkles on his forehead set with determination. He handed her a cell phone and held up a matching one in his hand.

“Call me if Los Lobos give you any trouble.”

* * *

They had a total of three miles to work in.

Their official target zone was a mile and a half long with another mile and a half to build momentum. No stretch of road could be wasted. The critical component in their plan was the geography of the valley. In this stretch of terrain, there was no cellular reception. Since the cartel relied on cell phones instead of radios, Mitsuru and her team would need to immobilize the shipment after it left cell phone range and before it re-entered on the other side.

If Mitsuru needed to call Alejandro, she thought ironically, she’d have to wait until after their drill.

Los Lobos met her two miles away from where the road began to snake through the wide valley.

The two were brothers, separated by only a few years. Most of their riding experience came from their illegal racing days in Los Angeles. Those days had ended abruptly when they received word that their parents had been caught in the crosshairs of a local drug lord. They returned to Mexico, their lives sworn to avenge their family.

It was a common story here, Mitsuru thought morosely.

As they pulled up next to her, they popped off their helmet to reveal youthful grins, which faltered slightly when Mitsuru did not remove her helmet.

She scanned them through her heavily shaded visor before tossing them each a communicator. As the two young men looped the wires around their ears with confused murmurs, Mitsuru noted with approval that all three of them were wearing the same black leather riding jacket and pants. The three bikes, shining with a luster of black chrome, were also identical. To the discerning eye, Mitsuru was the only one who would look slightly out of place due to her dissimilar build. It was a negligible discrepancy.

Alejandro had done remarkably well with the details.

Mitsuru motioned for them to put their helmets back on.

“Can you hear me?” she spoke into her helmet.

“Loud and clear, Señorita,” one answered. “I’m Marco.”

“Alejo told us to call her boss, dummy.”

“Oh, shit,” one of the young men said profusely, waving his hands. “Sorry Señorita- I mean boss.”

“Sorry about my little brother. I’m Esteban.”

“I hear you’re fast,” Mitsuru told them. “But I don’t believe everything I hear. Care to play a game to test your mettle?”

The two brothers turned their heads toward each other and then looked back to Mitsuru.

“What kind of game, boss?”

“A race from here to the hill about two miles down the road. If I pass either of you, you lose.”

Both of the brothers chuckled.

“So, like tag?” Esteban said simply.

She pretended to understand with a curt nod.

* * *

Mitsuru gave them a three second head start.

The engine came to life with a dull hum and Mitsuru pulled back steadily on the throttle. The road twisted sharply before abruptly sinking down into the valley. Ahead, Mitsuru could see the brothers had made an impressive gain in distance, but wasn’t convinced yet.

She was only just getting warmed up.

Her motorcycle thrummed with power as Mitsuru sharply shifted. The high gear sent her soaring down the hill crest and into the pit of the sprawling valley below.

The brothers were just short of midway through the stretch of valley road. Mitsuru crouched low in the seat and shifted to the highest gear on her bike, her arms locked with anticipation. The motorcycle gave a high pitched scream as it shot forward. Ahead of her, the brothers aligned side by side and synchronized their speed.

The wolves were obviously baiting her.

Intrigued, Mitsuru took the bait and propelled the bike forward to close the gap. As she approached, one of the brothers released the throttle and came swinging back toward her. Mitsuru corrected conservatively, and missed him by a few feet. Distracted by the near hit, Mitsuru barely noticed as the brother yo-yo’d back in perfect harmony with the other brother ahead.

Mitsuru smiled wryly at the trick.

She set herself up to be baited again, and when the other brother tried to reel her in this time, Mitsuru pulled on the throttle hard and easily dodged his feint. Staggered between the wolves, Mitsuru set out to overtake the leading rider. Again, she crouched low, her speedometer reading well over one hundred as the finish line rushed toward them. Her front tire managed to reach up against the other rider’s back tire, but just before they passed the hill, the trailing brother blasted by next to her.

They’d passed the test.

She smiled to herself as she slowed her bike to a stop beside the brothers and switched off the engine.  They had removed their helmets and were squealing with delight.

“Holy shit,” that was Marco again. “I’m like a demon riding out of hell on this bike! Did you see me take that turn at the start?”

“You nearly toasted me back there,” Esteban said to Mitsuru admiringly, cradling his helmet. “Where’d you learn to ride like that?”

Mitsuru merely shook her head at their enthusiasm.

“Well done,” she said, reaching into her jacket and removing a small, round rubber ball. “Ready for round two?”

They looked at her curiously as she tossed the ball to Esteban.

“What’re we doing with this?”

“Pass the baton,” she answered, switching on the ignition of her bike.  “Or the bomb, if you prefer.”

* * *

 

After another hour of practicing with the brothers, Mitsuru briefed them on the strategy they would implement in four days time, being sure to carefully review the contingency plans should something go wrong.  

They parted ways with a plan to meet again in two days. Mitsuru parked the bike in the hollow garage that Alejandro had described under the adjacent building on the corner. Exhausted and baked from the heat, Mitsuru returned to the safe house.

Mitsuru only rested for a few minutes before taking a quick shower and making herself a pot of tea. She cradled the coffee stained mug thoughtfully for a moment as she looked through the dust coated window of the safe house. The unobstructed desert horizon left her small haven exposed to an armada of storm clouds as they began their march forward.

Mitsuru took out a few maps Alejandro had provided and pinned the edges to the corners of the small card table with a few random objects. In three days, the team would regroup outside of Hermasillo to conduct a pre-mission check. From there they would circle back to the valley road where the cartel would be move through with the shipment. With any luck, the storm clouds would not linger.

A slight rumble bloomed into a crash of thunder, and Mitsuru held her breath until it was finished shaking the walls of her tiny base. The lights flickered momentarily but did not die.

On the horizon, Mitsuru spotted a thin sliver of lightning strike. Another clap of thunder followed and she hugged herself in order to quell the goosebumps on her arms.

At times like this, when the weight of her task crashed down over her and the loneliness swallowed her like a tidal wave, Mitsuru felt herself being reeled in to thoughts of her company, her friends, and even-

 _Ego over id_ , Mitsuru told herself sternly, planting her hands on the table and burning the map into her mind. _Duty over fear_.

Lightning always affected her this way.  

* * *

Alejandro returned after three days, as promised.

Mitsuru was staring up at the night sky outside the dilapidated garage with her motorcycle  the night Alejandro returned from his purchasing trip.  The storm clouds had finally cleared. Tomorrow, she expected them to operate under perfect weather.

She recognized Alejandro’s silhouette as he approached, but could not distinguish his expression through the darkness. His shoulders slumped when he saw her, and Mitsuru saw him shake his head in frustration as he strode toward her with an irritated gait.

“What are you doing?” He was tired. “You shouldn’t be out by yourself, boss.”

Mitsuru merely smiled at him in reassurance.

“I’ve never seen the stars like this before,” she answered, tilting her head back up. Alejandro made a grumbling noise, but didn’t protest further.

Mitsuru let her gaze drift into the sea of stars. Somewhere, in the vast web of nebulae and galaxies, Minato Arisato was looking down on her from his place upon the great seal. Mitsuru closed her eyes, her heart palpitating with sudden grief. In her heart, she asked for his forgiveness and understanding.

 _I cherish the sacrifice you made_ , she thought to the night. _I do not seek death._

“Let’s go back, boss,” Alejandro was looking at her sternly. Mitsuru smiled at him and looked back to the stars, her eyes shimmering slightly.

“Right,” she agreed, gently clearing her throat. “Let’s take a look at those charges.”

* * *

The next morning, Mitsuru found herself standing unsteadily next to her motorcycle in the back of the small cargo truck. Alejandro focused on the road calmly from the driver’s seat.

“Three minutes to intercept, boss,” Alejandro called back to her as the carriage of the truck swayed. Mitsuru held back her shaking as she opened a channel on her communicator.

Each member of the operation had a code name, except for the brothers who were referred to as a team. It seemed childish, but they needed to take the appropriate precautions if by some chance the cartel had a radio at their disposal.

“Status report,” Mitsuru prompted, setting her watch.

“Eyes on the safety net,” Ava’s quiet murmur broadcasted loud and clear. “You’re clear for passage over the next turn.”

“Ready down here, boss,” Estaban’s reply was soon seconded by Marco.

Alejandro flashed two fingers at her.

“Listen carefully,” Mitsuru said. A chill ran down her spine as she recalled saying those exact words to another team of comrades.

She could see Alejandro’s eyes staring back at her from the rear-view mirror.

“The contents of that vehicle are highly lucrative and extremely fragile. Under no circumstance are you allowed to damage the payload. Our margin for error is effectively zero,” Mitsuru enunciated as Alejandro gave her the one minute signal.

She carefully placed her helmet over her head and swung her leg over the motorcycle.

“Remember your contingency plan if you fail. Stay nimble and,” Mitsuru drew in a silent breath, clenching her hands into fists to stave off her shaking. “Don’t get careless.”

“Good luck,” she said tightly.

Alejandro looked back at her, and with a sharp nod, pushed a release button on his dashboard.

The rolling door rattled open with a bang, and Mitsuru caught a brief look at the enemy truck as it sped by and began to shrink away.  

She narrowed her eyes on the truck and pulled back on the throttle.

“Ride it like you stole it, La Campana,” Alejandro’s voice pulsed against her ears.

Her lips quirked into a mirthless smile as Mitsuru crouched down into the seat. Her bike lept from the back of the truck and onto the asphalt with a high wail.

Once recovered from the hard landing, Mitsuru gave the throttle another firm twist with the truck ahead firmly in her crosshairs.

* * *

  
**January**

Bleary-eyed, Akihiko shook off the haze of the flight as he searched the terminal for information on transport. He’d figured they could catch the next bus down to Hermasillo and start talking to the locals by morning.

Aigis seemed to be searching the area as well.

“There’s a concierge over there,” Akihiko pointed out. “We can get directions to the bus station.”

“Oh,” she replied hesitantly. “Well, Akihiko-san, I have already arranged our transportation to Hermasillo.”

Aigis looked away and Akihiko looked back to the terminal entrance just in time to see Ken Amada stroll through the automatic doors.

“Welcome to America!” He greeted, opening his arms wide.

Aigis practically sprinted toward him before capturing him in her arms. As Ken spluttered and choked from a combination of laughter and pain, Akihiko remained rooted to the ground. He closed his eyes and began to temper his breathing, fists clenched at his side.

He was still counting to ten by the time Ken approached him.

“Is that any way to greet your biggest fan, Akihiko-san-”

Akihiko’s eyes shot open as he latched onto the collar of Ken’s shirt and lifted him up several inches from the ground.

“What are you doing here, Ken?”

Ken was entirely relaxed in Akihiko’s grasp, as though his mentor’s reaction was perfectly expected.

“I asked Ken-san to join us,” she said quietly, tugging on Akihiko’s sleeve. Akihiko ignored her.

“What are _you_ doing here, Akihiko-san?” Ken asked calmly.

“What did you say?” Akihiko hissed, his fingers tightening around the fabric of Ken’s shirt.

“You heard me,” the youngest member of S.E.E.S. replied. “Aigis and I are Mitsuru-san’s friends. We’re here to help her. Are you here to do the same?”

“Akihiko-san, please let him go,” Aigis cut in nervously, laying a heavy hand on Akihiko’s wrist. “You are drawing attention.”

Akihiko didn’t need to look around to confirm that. He could feel the stares of the few late night travelers pressing into him. He dropped Ken from his grip, but didn’t release him from his deadly stare.

“I’m here to find out what the hell was so important to make her abandon her company and leave her friends to scour the world in fear for her life. Kirijo or not,” Akihiko replied, his voice high. “Mitsuru doesn’t get to just disappear without facing the repercussions.”

“Is that all?” Ken queried, putting his hands in his pockets.

“That’s all,” Akihiko snarled.

“So, you’re just going to ask her why she disappeared once she’s answered, take off?”

“I’ll bring her back,” Akihiko barked. “But I have nothing else to talk to her about.”

Ken looked to Aigis dubiously.

“Well, at least you and I can be friendly, right Aigis-san?”

* * *

It was clear that Akihiko had no choice but to accept a bonus detective. Exhausted from traveling, Akihiko didn’t have the energy to put Ken in his place just yet. So for the time being, he’d tolerate Ken’s presence.

Even at night, the Arizona heat was thick. Ken’s car was a suitable refuge, but even so Akihiko still found himself sweating as they drove in silence toward the border.

Akihiko was starting to think that his talk was bigger than his walk.

If they found Mitsuru, he wasn’t quite sure what he would say to her. His first reaction would certainly be along the lines of what he had conveyed to Ken, but after that?

He’d told the others that he’d bring her home, but there was never any guarantee of that. Akihiko didn’t need details to understand that Mitsuru’s stubbornness had brought her here, and her stubbornness would most likely keep her here. Reasoning with her would result in failure, especially considering the extra baggage of their unresolved separation.

For a moment, Akihiko wondered if he might be able to bring Mitsuru back as an officer of the peace, but that idea quickly fizzled out. Even if Akihiko was here as an officer, which he definitely wasn’t, he’d need a legal reason to take Mitsuru back to Japan. If she was engaged in criminal activity, she had to be charged back in Japan before he could legally remove her from Mexico.

“Why do you think she came here?” Ken asked softly, adjusting his hands on the steering wheel. Akihiko looked over to him from the passenger seat.

Truth be told, Akihiko’s thought process about Mitsuru’s disappearance had been driven less by police method and more by emotion since Paris. Akihiko needed to get back to the facts. With the clues from Port Island and Paris in place, he needed a motive.

“It has to be something to do with the Kirijo sponsored schools,” Akihiko muttered thinly. “It’s the only common thread in all of this. Fushimi said that Mitsuru had been looking at the school Mexico before she came to Paris on vacation with the others-”

“Where she somehow became connected to a family from Hermasillo,” Aigis leaned forward suddenly from the backseat, causing both of them to jump.

“Holy crap, Aigis-san,” Ken exhaled sharply, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “You’re so quiet I completely forgot you were back there.”

“I will emulate the sounds of human breathing to remind you of my presence,” Aigis offered as she began to huff and puff loudly.

“Stop,” Ken and Akihiko said in unison.

“The family obviously didn’t want us knowing Mitsuru was with them,” Akihiko continued. “Since it didn’t sound like Mitsuru was being held in their custody against her will, it almost seems like they were lying to protect her.”

“Do you think they might have been trying to cover up something happening at the school?” Ken asked, adjusting the air conditioning.

“As far as we know, they helped Mitsuru get here,” Akihiko shook his head. “Bringing her to the school wouldn’t help with a cover-up unless Mitsuru herself was complicit.”

Akihiko considered this for a moment. The Mitsuru he knew didn’t indulge hiding or concealing company problems. Once the family legacy was firmly in her hands, she made a point of handling difficult situations up front and was always pushing transparency on her subordinates. That was a deep contrast to her personal life, Akihiko noted scathingly.

“But. . . Mitsuru-san is capable of concealing the truth,” Aigis said, seeming to perceive Akihiko’s thoughts. “Given the appropriate ethical pressure.”

Troubled, Akihiko turned around in his seat to face her.

“Because of Mitsuru-san, we were able to operate S.E.E.S. covertly,” she elaborated, her blue eyes glowing fantastically in the dark. “One could argue that many were lives were saved because of the clandestine nature of our group’s operations. For Mitsuru-san, perhaps transparency was the rule, and concealment the exception.”

“Under that assumption,” Ken added slowly. “The truth must have been more dangerous than a lie. Something bad must have been happening down here.”

Akihiko recalled the little girl Emilia’s fearful reaction to the mention of Agua Prieta. How she had fashioned a bracelet to protect Mitsuru from ‘bad guys’.

“I know I cannot say for certain until we have more information,” Aigis said as Akihiko popped his knuckles in thought. “But I think you may have been right about Mitsuru-san getting ready for a fight.”

* * *

 

After passing border control, the group decided to head straight to Agua Prieta to investigate before continuing down to Hermasillo to find accommodations.

The town was by no means dilapidated, but Akihiko could sense a general unease hovering over the town. Almost right away, he and the others became recipients of distrustful and hostile stares as they drove by onlookers and vendors along the sparsely occupied streets.

“Tough crowd,” Ken said, clicking his tongue.

“We’re outsiders,” Aigis reminded them both. “Let us take extra care to be non-confrontational when we are speaking with the local populace.”

“All right,” Ken said with a reluctant. “I’ll be sure to put on my friendliest face.”

“My comment was ‘soft’ guidance geared toward Akihiko-san,” Aigis clarified. “I only included you, Ken-san, to spare his feelings.”

“Feelings spared,” Akihiko muttered, getting out of the car and restraining himself from slamming the door.

They wandered into a small corner market where Aigis proceeded with talking to the store manager. Immediately, the large middle aged man stepped in front of a young boy sitting behind the cash register.

The man said he didn’t know anything about a school and asked the three to leave his store.

They stepped out into the street, befuddled.

“Well, that was . . . brief,” Ken said awkwardly, stretching his arms over his head before scratching his temple. “Was it something she said?”

Aigis furrowed her eyebrows and Akihiko could practically see the gears turning.

“Perhaps a more confrontational approach is needed after all,” Aigis murmured. Akihiko shook his head and sniffed.

“We’re drawing enough attention as it is. Let’s try moving a bit further into the city.”

As the sun began to climb, the trio wound their way further into the town. When the group walked through a decorative arch, a group of people ceased their conversation and stared at them as they passed.

Akihiko found himself growing increasingly agitated. He was expecting a few stares, but the whole town was looking at them and not exactly in a friendly or curious way.

“I feel like we did something wrong. Is that strange?”

Akihiko muttered for Ken to keep quiet as they ducked into another grocery mart. This time, the woman behind the counter did not immediately ask them to leave, but the accusing look on her face was just as threatening as the onlookers outside.

Aigis approached her with a smile.

“Hello. We hear there is a school for gifted children in this town. Do you know anything about it?”

“Burned to the ground,” The woman spat, smiling harshly. “Thank God.”

“Oh,” Aigis replied, surprised. “I hope that no one was injured in the accident.”

“No accident,” the woman corrected Aigis forcefully. “An act of God.”

* * *

After the third unsuccessful attempt to gain information about the Kirijo school, Aigis sidled up to Akihiko and grasped his arm tightly.

“We are being followed.”

He stopped in his tracks momentarily before nodding to Ken. They resumed their pace and Akihiko nonchalantly led them into a dead end alley.

The boy from the corner market poked his head around the corner. Upon making eye contact with the three foreigners, he immediately vanished. Without a moment’s hesitation, the three adults sprinted after him.

“Wait, please! We just want to talk to you!” Aigis implored.

The boy ducked around a corner, which thankfully terminated in a dead end. Aigis carefully stepped toward him, her hands raised peacefully.

“Do not be afraid,” she murmured.

Akihiko could see tears streaming down his face and he wildly searched for a way out. The boy’s breathing escalated and he dropped to his knees.

“Oh shit,” Ken gasped.

A grotesque shape suddenly emerged as the boy let out a howling scream.

“Ziodyne, _Aigis_ -” Ken shouted, slamming into Aigis and knocking her to the ground. Akihiko stood fast as the bolt of electricity struck him head-on. He flexed his hands, reveling in the rush of energy coursing through his veins.

The attack ended and the disjointed persona evaporated.

Akihiko strode past Ken as the younger man leaned down to offer Aigis a helping hand. He approached the boy, still trembling on his knees, and knelt down beside him.

“You’re like me, aren’t you?” the boy said, trembling.

Akihiko nodded before putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Remember to breathe,” he said as the boy looked up at him with fearful eyes. “It will get easier, I promise.”

“That’s what she told me, too,” he whispered.

Akihiko scrunched his eyebrows and cocked his head.

“Who said that?” he asked softly.

“La Reina,” the boy swallowed, still trembling. “She helped us escape from the bad men.”

“Akihiko, look out-”

Instinctively, Akihiko reached his arms around the boy to shield him from the blow. The sound of electricity surging through metal grated against his ears before the world fell into cold darkness.

* * *

 

Akihiko blinked and grimaced.

A wall of liquor bottles came into focus, and Akihiko shook his head to ward off the woozy feeling in his gut. His hands and feet were bound to a chair and as Akihiko looked down to assess his restraints, he spotted his reflection in the polished bar top.

That was going to be a hell of a shiner in the morning.

He looked over to see Ken, bound to the chair beside him. His chin was tucked limply against his chest, his lips cracked and bloodied. Akihiko felt the panic swell in his chest like a fire. Ken shouldn’t have even come here, damn it. Aigis, where was Aigis-

“Relax, he’s fine.”

Akihiko’s head jerked up to see a petite woman with cascading black hair standing behind the bar. She wore a simple white dress and a blue silk scarf tightly wound around her neck. Her graceful appearance was punctuated with a strict expression.

“Where is she?” Akihiko slurred, shaking his head in attempt to clear his vision. “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll-”

“Threats will only get you killed faster, Señor,” the woman said crisply. “Your friend is tough, tougher than you two. She’s fine.”

“Let them go,” Akihiko growled. “I’m a police officer. I’m worth more.”

The woman responded with a sharp, mirthless laugh.

“Around here, you’re _especially_ worthless,” she retorted, crossing her arms. “So before you give me another reason to shoot you, who are you and what are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for someone,” Akihiko said between his teeth.

“And you thought scaring children would help you find them?”

“We weren’t trying to scare anyone,” Akihiko snorted contemptuously. ”We’re just looking for-”

“La Reina,” a drowsy voice said. Akihiko pivoted his head back to Ken and winced from pain.

“You okay?” Akihiko asked urgently, looking Ken over. “Don’t move too much-”

“He told you La Reina helped him escape,” Ken blinked at him listlessly.

“If you’re looking for La Reina,” the woman interrupted, her voice growing deep as she displayed her elegant arms along the bar top.  “You’ve found her.”

* * *

“Still,” she said slowly, taking in their stunned expressions. “I get the impression that it’s not me you’re looking for.”

“You’re a pleasant surprise,” Ken acknowledged flirtatiously, and Akihiko could tell his mouth was probably aching like hell from trying to smile. Even when the kid got his bell rung, he could lay on the charm. “But, yes, we were expecting someone else.”

The woman gave Ken a devilish grin.

Akihiko chewed his lip, annoyed.

“Look, are you going to help us or not? If not, untie us and let us go-”

“ _A_ _y ,_ ” she said to Ken, rubbing her temple. “I don’t care much for your friend’s tone.”

“Akihiko-san,” Ken said sternly. “We’re guests of. . . I’m sorry, what was your name?”

“Call me Ava,” she responded absently, rummaging through a drawer. “Here we are.”

She brandished a roll of duct tape, fixing Akihiko with a vengeful smile as she snapped off a long piece and leaned over the bar top.

“Don’t you come near meerfff-”

“There,” she murmured with a sigh, sealing the edges of the tape around Akihiko’s mouth. “Much better.”

Akihiko whipped over to Ken, his angry grunts muffled against the duct tape. Ken merely shrugged before turning back to Ava.

“Sorry about him. He gets worked up easily. Do you think you could help us find our friend? He has a picture of her in his wallet.”

Akihiko’s cheeks burned as he looked incredulously at Ken.

Ken smiled at him.

“He obviously didn’t think I knew about it.”

Akihiko fixed Ava with a withering glare as she reached and slipped her hand into the pocket of his jacket. She licked her lips and cocked her head as she sifted through his wallet. Akihiko watched her remove the worn edges of the photo tucked in the very back. He looked away, his breathing hard as her eyes feasted on the photo.

The picture had been taken at one of the Kirijo Group’s black tie galas. Mitsuru and Akihiko were laughing to each other about some joke Akihiko had cracked, oblivious of the camera in their faces. It was the only known photo he had of himself in a suit and tie. It was probably the only existing photo of him grinning.

“Have you seen her?” Ken asked quietly.

“Maybe,” Ava gently placed the photo back onto the bar top with a mysterious smile.

 _Maybe?!_ Akihiko tried to repeat into the duct tape, outraged.

“I don’t give up information without sufficient payment,” Ava said to Ken, completely shutting Akihiko out. “And despite those big innocent eyes of yours, I’m not entirely convinced that you are not my enemy.”

“Payment,” Ken clicked his tongue and sighed. “I have a few punches left on my Burger Town punch card, but other than that, I’m flat broke. Art student,” he explained with a shrug.

Ava laughed sultrily.

“I do very well for myself with this bar and my consulting work, so I don’t want money,” Ava responded, folding her arms on the bar and leaning in close to Ken.

“I like stories. Who is this woman to you? Why is it so important that you find her? If I like your story, perhaps I’ll tell you one of my own,” Ava said, cocking her head as she reached for a shot glass.

“She’s. . . indescribable,” Ken mused. “La Reina means queen, right? The reason we mistook you for her is because she’s got this air of royalty about her. To me, she’s a mentor, a benefactress, confidante, and . . . former crush.”

Akihiko drew back in his seat as he gaped at Ken, eyebrows knit in bewilderment. Ken kept his gaze steady on the proprietress of the bar.

“You are in love with this woman?” Ava gasped with delight.

“For a while, I thought I was in love with every woman,” Ken laughed. “It was just a boyish crush, though. For him,” Ken tipped his head in Akihiko’s direction. “It was something much more.”

“I love romance stories,” Ava sighed, propping her chin in her hand with a dreamy sigh. “Were they lovers?”

Ken seemed to mull this question over while Ava reached for a bottle of tequila.

“That was definitely a piece of their relationship,” he admitted. “But ‘love’ doesn’t quite describe them. It was more than that, like a profound understanding.”

“Kindred spirits?”

“Yes,” Ken nodded. “They could be so similar and also so different, but they always understood each other. They always knew what the other needed.”

“What happened?”

Ken carefully folded his bloodied lips in thought.

“One day, he found out that her elders were trying to corner her into marrying one of her company’s competitors. In order to be with her, in order to get the blessing of those men, he had to have a better position, a better title. A name for himself.”

“How foolish,” Ava said reproachfully, pouring two even shots of tequila into the glasses.

“Yes, but she was equally foolish. When he told her he was leaving, she thought she was in his way. She thought he was leaving her because it was too difficult for him to follow his ambitions with her in the picture. So she let him go without a fight.”

“Were things really so bad?”

“The stakes were high,” he explained. “These old farts gave her a choice between hiring a bodyguard or getting married. Everyone knew she wouldn’t get the bodyguard. So he realized her mentors were about to ambush her with marriage. He had to leave to save their relationship, in a way. He told himself that he could win her back once he became a Captain. Those old men couldn’t deny a man with such prestige.”

“Did he really think it would be so easy?”

“Easy? No. Simple? Yes,” Ken clarified. “Even with years of no contact, he thought he could explain everything to her and the bond between them would be restored. Oh, thank you,” Ken paused to tip his head back as Ava poured a shot of tequila down his throat.

He coughed and shook his head with a satisfied cringe.

“Hell of a burn,” he rasped. “Good stuff.”

“Did the marriage happen?” Ava pressed.

“Thankfully, no. They backed off. She must have bargained some sort of timeline to appease them,  but I’m guessing the threat of marriage never went away.”

“Such pointless sorrow,” Ava sighed dismally. “What happened next?”

“Three years passed. One day, she disappeared. Her friends, including me, tried to put together the pieces of what happened. Was she kidnapped? Did she run away? Why didn’t she reach out to us for help?”

“And him?”

“He was a late arrival to the situation. He was rational and calm, just like a seasoned officer of the law should be. By then, he’d moved up the ranks to Lieutenant. He offered to help, although. . .”

Ken stared at Ava, lost in thought. Enraptured with the story, Ava’s eyes entreated Ken to continue.

“For him,” the young man decided. “Her disappearance must have cut much deeper. Not only was he trying to figure out what happened to her without spiraling into a panic, but he was angry at her.”

He paused for a moment before resuming his thought.

“Maybe he could understand why she didn’t reach out to the others, but what about him? What about their unspoken connection? She should have at least sought _him_ out, after all they’d been through together. Had the trust between them become so broken that she couldn’t even ask for his help?”

“Perhaps she did not want to put him in harm’s way?” Ava offered.

“I’m sure that was part of it,” Ken nodded. “But you know what I really think?”

Ava nodded eagerly.

“I think she convinced herself that he didn’t have feelings for her anymore,” Ken suggested. “And that has to terrify him. The idea that she thinks she’s alone. That he doesn’t care.”

Ken moved his shoulders stiffly as he sighed.

“The idea that she’s suffering through something by herself when he could be there, using his strength to help her. . .  It’s gotta be killing him.”

“He’s afraid,” Ava murmured. “What will he do when he finds her?”

“Hard to say, on that point,” Ken said with a sardonic laugh, bobbing his head. “There will probably be a fair amount of _words_ exchanged. Maybe some punches thrown, followed by an execution of sorts.”

Ava raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Such passion,” she mumbled.

“Nothing new,” Ken assured her. “Their craft is the sword and fist. They aren’t such great poets.”

“They sound stubborn,” Ava noted. “Do you think they’ll ever be together again?”

“Oh, I have no doubt about it, as long as something terrible hasn’t happened to her,” Ken said in an obvious attempt to wheedle a tidbit of information from Ava. She looked at him obliviously and Ken shrugged.

“They have no problem finding each other. They just need to learn to hold on better.”

Ken tipped his head back as Ava poured another shot of tequila down his throat. She laughed as she wiped some of the dribble from his lips.

“So what do you think? Fit for Telemundo?” Ken grinned.  “Maybe you’ve seen her?”

Ava leaned over the bar with a hum, her arms folded.

“The truth is, I never saw her face. Though if this is her, then she’s just as lovely as I imagined,” the words rolled off of Ava’s tongue as she stood up to her full height. “I only heard her voice.”

“What did it sound like?” Ken tried.

“Like this,” Ava said as she tapped the rim of the bottle with a sugar spoon. “ _Ding, ding, ding_.”

Ken angled his head, confused.

“You see, _La Reina_ sits above the noise,” Ava gestured to herself.

“She separates her friends from her enemies from her throne. No one comes in or out of her court without her permission. Down below, _Los Lobos_ work as a pack to carry out the hunt while _El Fuego_ patiently waits to light the match. But _nobody_ moves until they hear the sound of _La Campana_.”

Ken suddenly turned to face Akihiko. Still reeling from Ken’s needle sharp account of his relationship with Mitsuru, Akihiko found himself unable to meet Ken’s gaze.

“When the bell rings,” Ava whispered, taking a sip from the bottle “The fight begins.”

Akihiko shuddered as he looked down at his own battered reflection.

 


	9. Smoking Guns

**January**

 

Ken’s body language shifted from somewhat relaxed to tense as he mouthed Ava’s words to himself. Ava’s expression only grew more amused as the young man before her suddenly drew back. 

“Oh my God,” Ken breathed, his eyes becoming large. “You’re a sharpshooter - a sniper!”

“The best in Mexico,” Ava tipped her head graciously to Ken, a sly smile spread across her lips. “Although, my line of work is very different these days.”

Ken took a serious pause. 

“Is this a bad time to ask if you’re single?” 

Akihiko groaned miserably into the duct tape over his mouth. 

“Cute,” Ava chortled good naturedly, tussling Ken’s hair. “Too young for me, though.”

“You must have been hitting up someone dangerous if a sniper was involved. Who was the target?” Ken asked urgently.

“The cartel, of course.”

“Seems like a risky target,” he said slowly. “They must have been carrying something important.”

Ava smiled, but did not take the bait.

“What was the plan? How did you stop them?”

“It all depended on the riders. They had to reach a speed over a hundred to pin the target down at the road’s midpoint,” Ava explained, moving the salt and pepper shakers to surround the bottle of tequila. 

“Once La Campana unloaded from the safety net, our truck, she had to build a tremendous amount of power to reach the payload. On the opposite side, Los Lobos had to start at precisely the same time as she.”

“Why did they have to be moving so fast?” Ken inquired, confused. “Wouldn’t it be better to intercept the truck, I don’t know. . . Casually?”

“Casually,” Ava repeated blankly, her eyebrows raised. “ _ Ay mi _ , you really are young.”

Ava dropped a shot glass on the countertop with a thud before frankly looking at Ken. 

“You don’t just walk up to the cartel and start a friendly chat. More importantly, we only had three miles of road to work with, which isn’t a lot a space for a  _ casual  _ transaction.”

“Transaction?”

“La Campana and Los Lobos had to get in, attach a set of detonators, and get out before the truck cleared the hill and re-entered cellular range.”

“A surprise attack,” Ken said, enthralled. 

“But surprise attacks do not stay surprises for long,” Ava waved her finger. “El Fuego had hit this route before, and even though he’d only picked off a few cartel backbenchers transporting drugs and guns, we had to assume the drivers of this shipment would be ready for an ambush.”

“Were they?”

“Oh yes. La Campana came under fire right away.”

* * *

**November**

Mitsuru could smell the burn of the rubber tires as she dogged the truck. 

The needle on the speedometer was steadily climbing when Mitsuru heard a distinct popping noise from in front of her. She snapped to attention as the gleam of a gun in the scorching hot sun caught her eye. Panic momentarily took control of her a passenger emerged low the side window and fired his weapon at her. 

“Incoming shots,” she said through clenched teeth as she hunkered down low in the seat. Another pop in her direction, and it was all Mitsuru could do to remain in control of her faculties.  

“Passenger,” Ava confirmed. “I don’t have a clean shot.”

“Allow me,” Alejandro’s voice thrummed. 

Mitsuru chanced a look behind her before glancing down at her watch. Either Alejandro had hit the turnaround point faster than expected or Mitsuru had been too slow in her approach. She needed to make up for lost speed. If she could just-

“Take the backseat, La Campana.”

Mitsuru bit her lip in frustration, but said nothing as she tapped the brakes and fell back behind Alejandro’s truck. Alejandro leaned out of the driver’s side window and fired a few shots from his handgun into the driver’s side mirror. 

The effect was instantaneous.

A shooter climbed out from the passenger side window and perched himself on the frame, armed with a semi-automatic-

“Here comes your clean shot,” Alejandro cautioned.

* * *

 

**January**

“Whack-a-mole,” Ava said, pointing her fingers into the shape of gun and blowing a puff of air past her finger. “The real problem was when La Campana resumed her position on the frontline.”

“What happened?”

“Pissed off the driver,” Ava shrugged. “He started shooting.”

Akihiko felt himself shiver. 

“Was she hit?” Ken gasped.

“La Reina would not allow such a thing to happen,” Ava replied, sounding slightly annoyed at the implication.

“What did you do?”

Ava blew a puff of air past her lips as a stray lock hair fell across her eyes.  She poured another shot of tequila and slid it across the bar top to Ken.

* * *

 

**November**

“Shots fired from the driver,” Ava said coolly, but Mitsuru could hear the frustration bubbling in her voice.

Mitsuru hunched down low as she heard a bullet whir past her helmet. She was gaining on the truck, but still needed a little cover to close the gap-

“Take him  _ out _ ,” Alejandro snapped.

Mitsuru opened her mouth to interject but bit down hard as she swerved to avoid a bullet aimed for her front tire. She was running out of road. Mitsuru would need to do double time to intersect with the brothers at midpoint. 

“If I take out the driver, I’ll compromise the payload,” Ava explained patiently. 

“Do not engage the target, La Reina,” Mitsuru commanded. “I repeat-”

“Figure it out-”

“Everybody shut up,” Ava replied serenely, and Mitsuru distinctly heard the sound of a gun being loaded. “And let me work.”

* * *

 

**January**

“These situations are bad, but never so bad as they seem,” Ava said, smiling wearily. 

“Sounds pretty hairy to me,” Ken replied with a snort. “How did you force the driver to stop shooting without putting the cargo in jeopardy?”

“I took out his arm,” Ava shrugged easily, tipping back another shot of tequila against Ken’s lips.

“His  _ arm _ ?” he spluttered. 

“You need to force your target into making the choice most advantageous to you,” she explained. “I wanted him to drive, not shoot. So I made him choose.”

“How’d you know he’d stop shooting?”

“However threatening La Campana was child’s play compared to this guy’s boss, I can promise you that,” Ava said easily. “If he willingly stopped the shipment for any reason, the cartel would make him pay. He stopped shooting long enough to give her the time she needed to plant the first charge.”

“About those charges. . .” Ken muttered. “If cargo was really that precious, why would you attach explosives to the truck?”

“The charges were nothing but high pressure devices with an intake valve. They contained only small amounts of combustible material,” Ava explained, pouring a shot of tequila and placing it in front  of Akihiko with a mocking smile.

“It was a tool to knock the truck off balance and bring it to a stop, rather than destroy it entirely. Since the back of the truck was the heaviest and contained fragile cargo, we needed a lighter touch.”

“So that means,” Ken said, the realization dawning on him “The heavier charges needed to be placed on the lighter side.”

“Two in the front, one in the back,” Ava winked.

“Like tapping a spinning top,” Ken said.

* * *

 

**November**

Mitsuru stretched out her arm and leaned down low in the seat as she attached the charge to the edge of the truck’s undercarriage.  A resounding click told her the device was secured. She pulled back the throttle and began to overtake the enemy vehicle.

“Match 1, locked in.”

Instead of shooting, the driver made a last ditch attempt to run Mitsuru off the road. As the driver swerved to the left to cut her off, Mitsuru braked hard and shot to the right. She overtook the truck quickly and focused on putting a sufficient buffer space between her and the enemy. 

Ahead, she could see Los Lobos cruising toward her. 

“I need a diversion,” Mitsuru said tightly, pushing on ahead of the truck as the driver revved the engine and increased speed. He was trying to catch up to her.

Mitsuru guessed the brothers’ speed to be well over a hundred as they rushed toward her  in perfect harmony, spaced a precarious four feet apart. Both parties began to reduce their speed just enough to complete the pass-

“With pleasure,” Ava responded. A slight ping bounced off of the truck just before Mitsuru and the brothers crossed paths. 

The men widened the gap between their bikes to make room for Mitsuru while the truck swerved behind them. Mitsuru caught a whiff of hot brakes as she leaned over to the right and held the small device low to the ground. As Estaban approached, he leaned down and easily plucked it from Mitsuru’s hand.

Practice perfect, Mitsuru smiled grimly.

* * *

 

**January**

“Wait, hang-on - Why not have them carry their own charges?” Ken asked, squinting peculiarly at Ava. 

“Contingency,” Ava responded dryly. “If Los Lobos came under fire, one would need to shoot so the other had cover to plant their device. La Campana would plant the remaining charge.” 

Ava locked eyes with Akihiko as she sipped from the tequila shot in front of him.

Always a back up plan, he thought sourly as he unflinchingly returned her gaze.

* * *

 

**November**

Mitsuru didn’t look back, but knew the brothers had peeled off and flanked either side of the truck.

“Match 2, locked in.”

“Match 3, locked in.”

Mitsuru set her jaw as she approached the hill at the end of target track. They were delayed by a few seconds, but could still secure the payload before the enemy cleared the hill.

“Light the matches, El Fuego. La Reina, give him a flat.”

“Nobody block my shot,” Ava’s strict voice reminded them all. 

A moment of radio silence plugged her ears before Mitsuru heard three simultaneous bursts. She brought the bike down to speed before spinning it around to face the enemy’s truck, just as the high pressure devices shook its frame. A loud snap signaled Ava had waited until after the devices were detonated to punctured the front tire. The vehicle began to sway and tremor, and for a terrifying moment, Mitsuru thought it might topple over. She breathed a sigh of relief as it came to a shaky stop, just before the road rose up out of the valley.

Behind the enemy’s vehicle, Alejandro blocked off the road with the carbon copy of the enemy’s truck. 

He rolled out of the cab with a pump shotgun and easily tossed a handgun to Marco as he and Esteban emerged behind him. Esteban removed his own handgun and together, the brothers proceeded to shoot out the remaining tires.

Alejandro aimed for the driver’s feet as he jumped out from the cab of the truck in an attempt to flee. He pumped the shotgun and fired off a warning shot, causing the driver to fall to the ground with a frightened scream. 

Mitsuru dismounted her bike approached the driver head-on, with Alejandro closing in from the rear.

* * *

 

**January**

“What happened after they immobilized the truck?”

“I covered Los Lobos as they transferred the cargo to our transport. La Campana and El Fuego took the driver out of my line of sight.” 

“What did they say to him?”

“Don’t know,” Ava said airily as she pretended to cut her own throat. “They went dark.”

* * *

 

**November**

“I’ve got sixteen back here,” Esteban’s strained voice brushed against Mitsuru’s ears as she stared the  driver down through the visor of her helmet. 

“Start transferring the payload to the safety net. Stay sharp.”

Behind the disabled truck, Mitsuru motioned to Alejandro to cut his signal before switching her communicator off. She removed her helmet grasped the driver’s chin, forcing him to look at her.

“Where is the seventeenth?”

Dazed, the driver shook his head before puffing out his cheeks. Alejandro, sensing he was about to spit on Mitsuru, grabbed the man by the head and slammed him against the frame of the truck.

“Nothing pisses me off more,” Alejandro said, his fist full with the driver’s hair. “Than thug with bad manners.”

Patience fraying, Mitsuru repeated her question.

“Shut up and kill me already,” the driver shouted, his nose and mouth smeared with blood.

“If you refuse to give up the location of the last child,” Mitsuru said calmly. “That privilege will belong to your masters.”

“And if I tell you?” he shrieked.

“Your seller won’t receive payment unless the shipment reaches the warehouse, correct?” Mitsuru asked. 

The driver simply stared back at Mitsuru, heaving with rage. A firm shake from Alejandro elicited a reluctant shake of his head. Mitsuru raised her chin, feeling more than irritated.

“Then your seller stands to lose much more than your affiliate, the buyer. We’ll happily leave you at their mercy where you can prove your worth with a physical description of your attacker. If your information is good, the seller will likely keep you alive.”

“You bitch,” the driver fumed, earning himself a suckerpunch from Alejandro. 

“The choice is yours,” Mitsuru replied evenly.

* * *

“La Reina,” Mitsuru spoke into her helmet as she returned from behind the truck. Behind her, Alejandro marched the freshly blindfolded and bound driver out in front of him. 

“Once the safety net is cleared for passage, dismantle your station and await transport.”

“Understood,” Ava said shortly. 

“Lobos,” Mitsuru called out, returning to her bike as she watched Alejandro secure the captive driver on the back of Marco’s motorcycle. He nodded his head to her as he donned Marco’s helmet and climbed behind the handlebars. 

“Payload’s secure and ready for transport,” Marco reported, and Mitsuru heard him shut the driver’s side door to the truck. Her eyes moved to Esteban as he rolled the back door to the truck closed, just barely catching a glimpse of a group of small, huddled shapes. He lifted his chin to her as he mounted his motorcycle. 

“Collect La Reina and return to home base.”

“Roger that, boss,” Esteban and Marco’s synchronized response was followed by the roar of the truck engine.  

With their captive firmly in place, Mitsuru and Alejandro took off in the direction Hermasillo, while the others departed for Agua Prieta.

* * *

 

The driver led them into the heart of a barren stretch of desert, where Mitsuru instantly spotted the dilapidated shack he had described, standing alone among the shrubs. 

After handing her a bottle of water from his satchel, Alejandro posted himself beside the immobilized driver while Mitsuru approached the frail wooden structure. Once she broke the flimsy lock with a nearby rock, the door swung open with a creak. 

What she saw filled her with anger and disgust.

The boy was blindfolded, gagged, and bound to a rusted pipe.

Mitsuru took a moment to collect herself before she knelt down beside him and gently cut the bindings from his hands. Judging by the way he flinched when she removed the blindfold, Mitsuru deduced that the boy had not seen light in some time. She removed the gag from his mouth and offered him the water. 

He took it instantly, looking fearfully up at Mitsuru as he drank the entire bottle in a few gulps. Still, his eyes did not seem to actually perceive her.

“What is your name?” She asked, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.

The child merely blinked. 

Realizing her appearance was probably the source of the boy’s fear, Mitsuru removed her helmet and offered him a kind smile.

“I’m-”

“Artemesia,” he said and Mitsuru felt her muscles tense up. “That’s the name of yours.”

“That’s right,” she answered, an involuntary chuckle escaping her lips as she recovered from her surprise. Mitsuru rested her helmet down on the ground as the boy seemed relax slightly. 

“She’s afraid of fire,” he frowned.

“Very much so,” Mitsuru shook her head before she elaborated. “But even when she’s afraid, she stands by me, no matter what. Artemesia protects me.”

“You’re strong,” the boy nodded, his eyes unfocused on the other wall. “Stronger than any of us.”

Mitsuru rested her chin on her knee as she took a measured inhale. 

“Why are you here by yourself?” she asked gently.

“Mixcoatl can’t fight,” he answered, his eyes looking past her.  “Mixcoatl can see things, though,” the boy said. “He never lies.”

Another persona like Yamagishi’s. Certainly, this boy was a valuable asset to the cartel, but not for fighting shadows. Perpetuating greed and human misery was their task. A strange feeling took a hold of Mitsuru as she waved her hand in front of the boy’s eyes. 

“I see your heart,” he noted, not batting an eyelash. “It's heavy, but pure. I cannot see your face, Señorita.” 

Mitsuru swallowed.

“Has it . . . always been like this?”

“No,” the boy answered, and Mitsuru did not need to hear anything else. She felt the painful slow pull of knife in her heart as the boy tilted his head at her. “He says you rescued the others.”

She forced the tears back as the boy continued, his voice suddenly swelling with hope.

“He says you have come to take me home.”

* * *

 

Mitsuru emerged from the shack, hand in hand with the small boy.

Alejandro watched her lazily beside his borrowed motorcycle, his hand effortlessly hooked to the bound and gagged driver on the back of the bike. 

Mitsuru squinted at Alejandro before quickly looking away, knowing her eyes were still moist. Alejandro’s eyes momentarily flickered down to the boy wearing Mitsuru’s motorcycle helmet before he remounted his bike, not saying a word.

Mitsuru helped the boy onto her bike, whispering for him to hold on to her tightly.

The boy nodded and Mitsuru flipped the ignition.

Just outside of Hermasillo in the small town of Guadaloupe, Mitsuru and Alejandro pulled their motorcycles up to a plain colored dwelling. Mitsuru dismounted her bike and watched as Alejandro hauled the driver up by his shirt and unceremoniously dropped him to the ground. 

Mitsuru leaned over the petty criminal and rolled him onto his back with her heel. 

_ “ _ Tell your seller: Takeharu Kirijo sends his regards.”

* * *

When they arrived in Agua Prieta outside a cluster of homes, Mitsuru killed the engine and gently  guided the boy’s hand into Alejandro’s. She kept the motorcycle steady as he clambered down and watched as Alejandro slowly removed her helmet from the boy’s head. The boy ruffled his own hair, a wide grin on his mouth as Alejandro returned the helmet to Mitsuru. 

The boy’s family lived just around the corner. A part of Mitsuru yearned to see their reunion, but she instantly killed the urge. Her oversight was the reason a reunion was necessary. It would be abhorrent if she received any enjoyment or satisfaction from simply doing the right thing. 

Alejandro looked at her, a strange gleam in his eyes. 

“His mother and father will want to meet the woman who saved their son’s life,” Alejandro paused. “Boss.”

“They will,” Mitsuru said clearly, replacing her helmet over her head. “As we speak, Agua Prieta is making the acquaintance of La Reina.”

Alejandro let out a deep sigh in response, his large hand swallowing the rescued boy’s tiny fingers in a gentle hold. 

“Meet me at the school when you’ve finished here,” Mitsuru added, twisting the throttle gently. “Our work isn’t quite finished.”

* * *

 

Mitsuru glanced at her watch, peering up into the sky as the sun began its descent toward the desert horizon.

A cursory glance over the building informed her that the school had been uninhabited for quite some time. She surmised that after the seventeen children had been kidnapped, the laboratory staff and “teachers” had abandoned the facilities.

Common sense told her to wait for Alejandro before she went in, but the feeling was trampled by her burning impulse to investigate. The doors were locked, so Mitsuru took up a nearby rock and shattered a window for a makeshift entrance. After clearing the window edges of broken glass, Mitsuru hoisted herself up through the window. 

Forged passports, stalking, ambushing, purchasing weapons under questionable circumstances, and of course attacking a member of the cartel and dropping him in the middle of the desert. Now, breaking and entering - The freshest addition to a laundry list of dubious activities and not exactly the usual affairs of Mitsuru Kirijo. What would Lieutenant Sanada say if he could see her now?

Mitsuru crossed her arms as she leisurely toured the school. 

Her life had always been carefully planned out, the painstaking details of her interactions always handled with care. Being here had not changed anything, she reminded herself. She was still the composed CEO she had always been. Her activities were simply of a different nature now. They required honing a different management style, a different approach, a certain. . . edge. 

Choices were always at the root of change, she told herself, slowly making her way through the hallways of the school turned laboratory. Mitsuru had chosen to handle the perpetrators of these crimes and had thus chosen to become this person, however out of place it felt. 

Lieutenant Sanada had chosen to pursue a life of order, a life dedicated to the pursuit of perfection. Mitsuru had once chosen a similar life, but now her circumstances demanded that she pursue justice, by whatever means.

Mitsuru paused, peering into a storage room. She flipped on the lights and noted a few dead bulbs. The property was still well maintained, but the signs of abandonment were beginning to show. She wondered how her flat in Port Island was doing. What of her office? Were the others-

Those thoughts would not help at a time like this, she told herself sternly as she began to open filing cabinets. All of them were empty. Of course, she thought as she went through each of the cabinets and slammed them shut. 

She was too late: The files had already been purged. 

“Long day, boss?”

Alarmed, Mitsuru jumped back and inadvertently bumped into the filing cabinet behind her. The sound of paper fluttering to the ground caught her attention, even as her heart hammered in her ears.

“Alejandro,” she breathed, closing her eyes. Mitsuru shook her head as she turned around and opened the filing cabinet.

“Should have waited for me,” he remarked, shuffling into the room. Mitsuru retrieved the file from the bottom, her eyes feasting on the contents.

“What is it?”

“Email correspondence,” she answered, astonished. Mitsuru shook her head as she continued flipping through the file. “Between Maeda and Akabe.”

Behind her, Alejandro towered over her shoulder and squinted down at the file. He shook his head at the characters on the page. 

“They’re discussing how to misconstrue a wire transfer, so as not to draw attention,” Mitsuru murmured. 

“Seems careless.”

“Arrogant,” Mitsuru corrected distractedly, flipping a page. “They didn’t think anyone would find this information if it wasn’t on the Kirijo Group’s official record. These emails were sent from unofficial addresses.”

The file didn’t just contain email threads. There was correspondence detailing exchange of the product, pricing, a treasure trove of evidence linking Treasurer Akabe to the crimes in Agua Prieta.

“Boss,” Alejandro murmured. “If you take this back, that means. . .”

“It’s time to let go of the idea that things can return to business as usual,” Mitsuru stated, shutting the filing cabinet firmly. She turned around to face Alejandro, chin lifted. 

“I may not be able to lead my company, but I can at least put the next leader on the correct course.”

Alejandro looked down at her, crestfallen. Mitsuru gave him a comforting smile. 

“Find me gasoline, Alejandro.” 

* * *

Her gargantuan helper took a deep breath as he tossed the empty gasoline pitcher through the broken window.

“You sure about this?” Alejandro seemed nervous.

“Do the honors, if you please,” Mitsuru nodded, crossing her arms on her chest as a cold shiver shot down her spine.

The sun had set and the desert heat had almost instantly evaporated, leaving an empty cold in its place. After splitting up to sweep the school for any additional evidence, Mitsuru and Alejandro had doused the floors, walls, and remaining equipment with a modest amount of fuel found in the cellar.

“No way,” Alejandro said, lighting the match and passing it to her. “This moment belongs to you, boss.”

A tiny flame danced in the dark. 

As she meditated on the flame, Mitsuru felt Artemesia blanch. Still, her persona did not draw back. Instead, she stood fast and remained the true presence that Mitsuru had described to the young boy she rescued earlier. 

Mitsuru tossed the match onto the slick trail of gasoline and took a tiny retreat as the tiny flame flowered into a towering wall of fire.

She was only as strong as her greatest weakness. 

Mitsuru closed her eyes as she felt the heat began to swell around her. Even with her eyes shut, she could see the world around her painted with an ethereal orange glow. The sound of shattering glass, groaning pillars, and crumbling ceilings filled her ears. At once, she almost felt a tendril of fire curl toward her skin-

You’re standing too close, something told her. 

“ _ Boss!”  _

Mitsuru’s eyes flew open as she felt a hand abruptly jerk her back by the collar of her jacket. A shower of flames came spitting out from the building, and Mitsuru suddenly found herself engulfed by Alejandro’s arms as a torrent of flames soared over them. Alejandro pulled her down to the ground and the flames died down almost as fast as they had been born.

Mitsuru let out a shaky breath as involuntary tears streamed down her face, her eyes glassy on the burgeoning wreckage.

Alejandro apprehended her shoulders and gaped at her as though she had gone stark-raving mad.

“Didn’t you hear me?” he said sternly, giving her shoulders a slight shake. “I said you were standing too close.”

* * *

 

**January**

“What do you think?” Ava pondered, leaning over the bar top and evaluating Akihiko as she strummed her fingers against the bar top. “Can you speak with a civilized tone?”

Akihiko shut his eyes. After taking a deep breath, he looked at her and nodded. Ava smiled as her fingers found the edge of the tape and ripped it off.

“That’s gotta hurt,” Ken winced. 

Akihiko licked his lips, contemplating his next words carefully.

“Why are we the enemy here?”

Ava eyed him curiously before leaning back. 

“We once had Japanese men working in Agua Prieta. They said they were good men, charitable men,” she explained. “Agua Prieta hasn’t forgotten those men. You’ll have to forgive the community’s distrust. It isn’t entirely unjustified.”

“What did they do?” Ken asked.

“I don’t know, but she came here for them,” Akihiko answered immediately. “And not to tell them what a great job they were doing.”

“Do you really need me to tell you what was in the truck?” Ava said, fiddling with her dress as she settled back against the liquor cabinets.

Akihiko chewed the inside of his mouth. 

A traffic jam of thoughts began to clog his mind. A million things could have caught the eye of Mitsuru Kirijo, but only one could cause her to pursue such a high stakes target in such a small amount of time. Before he realized it, Akihiko was speaking.

“Our first date was a total disaster,” he said wryly, turning to Ken. Ken responded with a comforting smile, but his expression seemed befuddled. Akihiko chortled humorlessly at Ava.

“We went to this restaurant and the food gave me such bad heartburn. The server clearly didn’t think we were there on a date and kept hitting on her, not that she noticed. To top things off, she got this call that there was a fire at the company office.”

Akihiko took a deep breath.

“We left right away and when we got there, they had cornered off the building. While she was trying to find out what was going on, I tried talking to some of my buddies on the fire brigade. They told me it was just a coffee pot that got left on. Small fire. I went to tell her, but I couldn’t find her. Turns out, when she discovered that some of her employees were inside, she got in through a back entrance. Like I said, it was a small fire, nothing serious. But she. . . “ 

He trailed off, eyes stony.

“She’s got this thing with fire, let's just say. By the time she got upstairs, her people had already made it down. You should have seen the look on her face when the firefighters escorted her back down,” Akihiko chuckled mirthlessly. 

“But that was nothing compared to what I was feeling. I was furious.”  

“Because she went in without you,” Ava murmured.

She was right, but Akihiko wasn’t going to admit that yet.

“When I asked her why she didn’t wait for me to go in with her, she said she didn’t want me to do anything that might jeopardize my career.”

Which, Akihiko realized, should have been a good indicator of their ill-fated dance with trust and communication.

“She’s a methodical person,” Akihiko explained. “She wouldn’t just run off to Mexico to take on the cartel. . . Unless someone was in imminent danger.”

Akihiko directed his last sentence to Ken, who seemed to be putting the pieces together.

“So no,” he said, glancing back at Ava.  “You don’t need to tell me what was in that truck. Your description of your operation tells me there were human lives involved. Kids most likely if she was looking into the school.”

He released a sigh he did not realize he had been holding.

“What I do need to know is . . . if she’s still here or if I’m too late.”

“You’re not too late,” a small voice said. Their heads turned in unison to a boy who had suddenly appeared at Akihiko’s side. “But she’s not here.”

“Gabriel,” Ava said breathlessly, rushing to the boy’s side. “I told you to wait upstairs. Go back-”

“Caesar and Kala-Nemi called me,” the boy said blinking over at Ken curiously. “I can hear Athena, too, but she’s further away. You're all strong - like her.”

Ava turned to Akihiko with new eyes.

“You’re like them?” she whispered to him, faltering. “You have the power of persona?”

Gabriel nodded on behalf of Ava’s two prisoners.

“Hers was Artemesia,” he continued, approaching Akihiko fearlessly. “Everyone says La Reina saved me that day, but they’re wrong. I wasn’t with the others. It was her.”

“Her?” Ken swallowed, obviously not sure how to ask a blind child for a physical description. 

“There was a cold, bright light around her. She gave me water and took me home to my parents on her motorcycle. I stay here with La Reina in Hermasillo when they work.”

Gabriel paused before returning his unseeing eyes to Akihiko.

“He will put a bullet through her heart, if you don’t go now,” the boy related succinctly. “And she’ll die alone.”

* * *

 

Ava was talking too fast, and Akihiko had to ask her to slow down so his throbbing head could keep up.

The children were persona users, but not through inherent potential. Their personas were artificial, forced upon them by scientists hungry for power and money. To Akihiko, these men were clearly rogue members of the Kirijo Group, and Mitsuru had taken it upon herself to stop them. According to Ava, the lucky children survived the experiments. Other children, before the seventeen had gone missing, had not made it through the process. 

Akihiko’s stomach shuddered with revulsion. 

They hadn’t harnessed the power of their other selves, however, and were susceptible to bouts of volatility. Ava’s job was to make sure the children had an emotional safe place and protection from predators until they could grow into their abilities. 

Ava herself did not have the potential, but she could empathize with the children’s situation.

“We can choose to rise,” she murmured slowly. She brought her dark eyes to meet Akihiko. “That’s what she told me. I had my doubts, of course, but looking back, she was right. Now I know:  I was born to help these kids.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ken started tepidly. “It’s amazing that you rescued these kids, but. . . um. . .”

Silence plugged the air as Ken’s words fell off. 

“You’re asking what was in it for us?” Ava asked quietly.

“I guess so,” Ken said cautiously.

Ava paused for a moment before emitting a contemplative sigh. 

“Fair enough.”

Then, fixing Ken with a dangerously soft expression, Ava slowly unwound the scarf around her neck. Akihiko felt his body grow rigid and had to stop himself from physically recoiling.

The broken line of a white scar ran diagonally across her throat.

“If you’re still wondering,” Ava said lowly. “We weren’t there for money.”

Ava paused before turning around to wipe down the bar and put away a set of clean glasses. Meanwhile, Ken, with his bloodied lips in deep contrast with his pale skin, looked to Akihiko for guidance on what to say next. Even though he was completely free to speak now, Akihiko knew better and kept quiet.

Once she regained her no-nonsense tongue, Ava explained that Mitsuru had left just a week or so after their operation. Akihiko pressed her to give them the estimated date of Mitsuru’s departure. 

“About a month ago. She stayed long enough to make sure we could handle any blowback from the cartel and to ensure the payload was well-protected.”

“Was there any?” Ken cleared his throat. “Blowback, I mean?”

“None yet,” Ava said, her voice metered. “I think the fire handled that for us.”

“Fire. . .” Akihiko muttered. “The fire at the school.”

Ava nodded, looking at Akihiko as though he weren’t quite right in the head.

It was her. Mitsuru had set the school ablaze. Of all the things Akihiko had heard today, the idea of  Mitsuru Kirijo as an arsonist was probably the most difficult to swallow. Considering her aversion to fire as well as the fact that her father had built that school, Akihiko couldn’t quite believe she was capable of such extremes. The only reason she would do such a thing would be to-

“A message,” Ava clarified. “To the cartel and the suppliers.”

“No,” Akihiko said sharply. “Bait.”

* * *

 

Akihiko, being the realist he was, had to ask what would happen to Ava once the news spread that she had released the shifty group of foreigners unharmed.

“It will be easy once I explain that you are like the children,” she sighed. “Just don’t expect to be greeted like heroes on your way out of town.”

“What did you do with Aigis?” Ken asked suddenly. 

“Relax,” Ava laughed as she picked up a phone behind the bar and began to dial a number. In a matter of minutes, two young men entered the bar with Aigis sandwiched between them. 

“Akihiko-san! Ken-san!”

Aigis’ cheerful greeting died abruptly when she saw the condition of her friends. Immediately, she reproached the two brothers for their indelicate handling of her friends.

“It was not necessary to use such force,” Aigis chided them. To Akihiko’s astonishment, the brothers looked down in shame. 

“Man,” Ken muttered, watching with amazement as Aigis continued her chastisement. “She doesn’t have a scratch on her. You really got the short end the stick, Akihiko-san.”

“Me?!” Akihiko spluttered, turning stiffly in his seat. “You got knocked around just as much as I did.”

“Yup,” Ken chirped. “But I also got fed tequila shots by a beautiful woman.”

Ava grinned at him. 

* * *

“What did they do to you?” Akihiko growled, looking distrustfully at the two young men as Aigis tipped Akihiko’s chin back to inspect his injuries. “Did they hurt you?”

“Not at all,” Aigis said reassuringly. “They simply found my emergency shutdown switch. In that state, I am unable to fight but am still aware of my surroundings. They explained why I was being held and that you were with someone else before they reactivated me. Our time together was very peaceful and productive.”

“I really did get the short end of the stick,” Akihiko muttered as the brothers cut Akihiko and Ken away from their bindings. 

“Alejo mentioned an Iranian flower market in Beirut,” Ava called over to them as they left the bar, her hands protectively laying over Gabriel’s shoulders. “If you find her, tell her there is still a lot of work to be done here.”

Ava quietly pulled the door close, giving Ken one last wink before she disappeared back into the bar. Ken’s eyes seemed to linger on the place where Ava stood as he trailed behind Aigis. They managed to find Ken’s car close by. After immobilizing the three persona users in Agua Prieta, Los Lobos had used Ken’s car to transport them to Hermasillo for interrogation. Thankfully, the brothers had been courteous enough to lock the doors. 

“Should we drive back to Agua Prieta?” Ken asked, blinded by the midday sun. He turned around to face Akihiko and didn’t seem altogether surprised when he was met with a hostile gaze. Realization seemed to dawn on him and Ken squared his shoulders back.

“Okay,” Ken nodded bravely, seeing what was about to happen. “I get it. Time to pay the piper,” he took in another gulp of air and lifted his chin. Ken spread his arms and screwed his eyes shut.

“Just not in the face, okay? My looks are the only thing I have going for me at this point.”

Drained, Akihiko merely squinted at him.

“How did you know?”  In his own voice, Akihiko at once heard all of the confusion, hurt, and helplessness that had been accumulating all of these years. 

Perplexed, Ken dropped his arms and opened his eyes while Aigis looked on bemusedly.

“If I tell you, are you still going to punch me?”

Akihiko licked his lips wearily, his face still feeling heavy from the black eye.

“I might.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. Solo

**November**

 

Mitsuru could not recollect how or when she had returned back to their tiny apartment above the cantina. It wasn’t surprising that the memory was foggy considering the intensity of  yesterday’s activities. She probably hadn’t said thank you or goodnight to Alejandro - a fact that she regretted now that she was awake. Mitsuru made a mental note to herself to apologize and express gratitude to Alejandro for his services. She hoped he did not mistake her exhaustion for rudeness.

Her eyes opened to the bright light illuminating the curtains on the windows. Alejandro was singing in the kitchen.

This morning it was Nina Simone.

By the way his deep voice carried the lyrics of ‘Feeling Good’, it was clear Alejandro’s spirits were high. Mitsuru watched small particles of dust drift through the exposed morning light as she listened to his thick and soulful voice as it passed through the walls.

The melody soothed her, but Mitsuru could not entirely share in the sentiment of the song.

While their operation had been a success, the challenge now was meeting Maeda and his sellers on an even playing field. He’d either come after Mitsuru here in Mexico, or build up his reserves and strike in Beirut. Mitsuru would need a different plan to cut to the quick of the illicit operation in Lebanon, one that relied less on opportunism and more on infiltrating the enemy’s operations.

Mitsuru silently rose from the bed and slipped on a light sweater. She pushed the door open silently and then smirked as she crossed her arms, her presence unnoticed. Alejandro continued his singing as he moved the iron over his shirt.

“My father used to listen to that song,” Mitsuru commented, leaning against the doorframe.  “It always made me smile when I heard it coming from his office. It meant he was enjoying his work.”

Alejandro turned to her defensively, holding the iron in his hand like a weapon. He furrowed his eyebrows at her with calculated ambivalence.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, boss,” he said before slowly returning the iron to his shirt, his eyes still burning back at her accusingly.

“Of course not,” Mitsuru nodded.

Once he finished ironing, Alejandro whipped up a breakfast large enough to feed an entire village. Mitsuru tried to eat slowly, but since she hadn’t eaten dinner last night, she eagerly devoured the large pile of tortillas, eggs, and ham. Mitsuru apologized for her taciturn nature after their return last night.

“Boss,” Alejandro responded, clearing his throat from across the table. Seeing his apprehension, Mitsuru gave him an encouraging nod as she took measured bites of her food.

“Something’s been bugging me,” he continued, looking down at his hands. “The way you showed your face. . . gave them your family’s name.”

Alejandro sighed and crossed his arms, averting his gaze out the window.

“Then the school . . .”

“You think I was careless,” Mitsuru translated.

“It was bold,” Alejandro shrugged. “Just don’t get why you did it.”

“I see,” Mitsuru said, swallowing the rest of her breakfast and gently patting her hands with the napkin. “Let’s spar.”

The stern expression on Alejandro’s face was quickly replaced with one of bewilderment.

 

* * *

 

Dust puffed up from the floorboards as Alejandro hit the ground with a yelp. While his impact against the ground seemed painful, Mitsuru suspected Alejandro’s grunt had more to do with the blow she had just dealt to his ribcage.

His arms were spread out to his sides as he let out one long slow wheeze. Mitsuru carefully tidied her hair into a bun before putting her hands on her knees and leaning over him.  He looked up at her, not quite surprised, but certainly not expecting her to actually come at him so quickly.

“You recall, Alejandro, my confusion during our initial sparring sessions.  I was confused at why you weren’t taking my attacks seriously,” Mitsuru commented, slightly out of breath. Alejandro closed his eyes in a tight wince as the pain of his injuries seemed to intensify.

“Every adversary I’ve encountered has addressed me as a serious threat,” Mitsuru continued. “I realized that, unlike you, my previous opponents never assumed I would hold back. I realize now I have taken this for granted. Thank you for helping me realize this critical error.”

“Don’t mention it,” Alejandro squeaked.

“You see, after you made it clear that I wasn’t a threat to you, your doubt spurred doubt in myself and adversely impacted my commitment to attack.”

“I think you broke something,” he wheezed, putting his hands over his ribs.

“Therefore, in order to prove that I was not “bluffing” so to speak, I couldn’t attempt a mere feint. I had to pin you. Now you know how threatening I am.”

Alejandro’s stoic expression flickered with a grimace.

“You hit hard,” was all he decided to say.

“I became concerned that Akabe or Maeda might regard me in a similar fashion. As that is risk I cannot take, I had to demonstrate my resolve. This should answer your question as to why I showed my face to the enemy, why I so ostentatiously uttered my father’s name, and why,” Mitsuru straightened her back and rolled her shoulders. “I had no qualms burning down the Agua Prieta School.”

Alejandro looked as though he might be sick or start crying. Perhaps both. Mitsuru suspected he was still listening, however, and continued on.

“Maeda and Akabe need to know I’m coming. When they realize the full extent of my conviction, they will feel threatened. Their knee-jerk reaction will be to strike back carelessly,” Mitsuru said, nodding down at him, her hands on her hips.

“Whether it’s on the battlefield, or in the company archives, our coup de grace will come when Akabe and his attack dog swing back.”

“Why not try a more subtle strategy, boss?” Alejandro swallowed hard before releasing a rumbling exhale. “You know, come at ‘em out of nowhere?”

“If your uncle wanted subtle, he wouldn’t have recruited me,” Mitsuru offered Alejandro her hand, but he waved her off.

“I’m just gonna stay down here for a bit, boss,” he said, trying to appear nonchalant.

 

* * *

 

 

Mitsuru remained hidden away in the tiny apartment for the next week. Alejandro brought her newspapers, some from as far away as the United States, proclaiming the liberation of the seventeen school children from Agua Prieta. The Mexican Government was taking credit for the release.

According to Alejandro and Ava, the cartel’s activities had shifted away from Hermasillo and Agua Prieta. The seller appeared to be nervous, but Mitsuru wasn’t discounting the risk of a retaliatory strike from a disgruntled cartel ring.

One evening, Mitsuru overheard the sounds of a celebration from the bar downstairs. Alejandro returned late in the evening with a shotglass filled with tequila.

“On the house, boss. _Salud_.”

She took a sip and the liquor had burned her throat, but not in a painful way. A slow burn that sizzled and glowed in her stomach.

The proprietress of the bar downstairs had excellent taste. Mitsuru only wished Ava and the others would be more reserved in their celebrations.

Ava was doing her best to work with the children and their families, but the children were still having difficulty readjusting to their home lives and had the added bonus of persona to contend with. The children needed a persona user to guide them, but right now, Ava would be more than enough. She was strong, she was patient, and she cared enough to stay.

If Mitsuru’s luck prevailed, she would return to help finish was she started.

Mitsuru neatly folded the newspapers and stacked them on the table. She reached for the file she had plucked from the Agua Prieta School and went over each of the emails in meticulous detail.

Unfortunately for Mitsuru, luck as well as time were precious commodities.

She needed to break up operations in Beirut, but in order to do so, she had to be absolutely confident that it was the sole locus of the trafficking ring. Things in Mexico were beginning to appear stabilized and while Mitsuru doubted the violence had truly died down, there was a lull in the storm. She needed to take advantage of it and soon.

Mitsuru looked up from the papers as Alejandro tipped the spout of a tea kettle into a mug.

“Can you get me across the border?”

Alejandro cocked an eyebrow, as if to say ‘really?’

“Think I can manage, boss,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Alejandro put the mug in front of  Mitsuru with a heavy thunk.

“Good,” Mitsuru nodded curtly, sifting through the pile of evidence. “Please make the necessary arrangements before booking a flight to Beirut at the end of this week. I’ll be going ahead alone.”

 

* * *

 

That last order did not sit well with Alejandro.

The two sat across from each other at the dining room table. Both had their arms crossed defiantly and both were staring each other down with cool, disagreeing stares. A small cellular phone was glowing between them.

“Congratulations,” Josue Perez stated. “You have all done excellent work. Kirijo-san, I trust you are collaborating well with my nephew as your associate?”

Mitsuru smiled grimly to Alejandro, who furrowed his eyebrows at her in response.

“Very well, though I’m afraid the reason for this phone call today is to seek your mediation with a disagreement we seem to be having.”

“Oh?”

“Boss got it in her head she could head to Beirut alone.”

“I need to start operations on the ground,” Mitsuru said briskly. “However, I’m not ready to have Ava take on mentoring the children _and_ fending off the cartel. I need your nephew to stay here until we are certain that our enemies are not planning to retaliate.”

Alejandro looked close to rolling his eyes.

“Cartel’s moved out of town,” he said dully, staring keenly at the phone. “Bigger problem is waiting for us in Lebanon. Yusuf won’t take kindly to a woman leading his men through an operation.”

Mitsuru could not hide her surprise at Alejandro’s candor, even though she knew this would likely be an issue for her. Josue had briefed her about their associates in Beirut, but compared to the other problems the operation entailed, general sexism was rather low on the priority list. Still, Mitsuru took this opportunity to quietly fume. To think that the lives of innocent children could be forfeit due something as trivial as her sex.

A long, drawn out pause amplified their staredown until Josue chimed in at last.

“I am inclined to agree that our contact in Beirut is rather . . . old fashioned.”

Mitsuru shook her head disinterestedly as Alejandro puffed with satisfaction.

“However, Kirijo-san is no stranger to misogynist business partners. She can appropriately navigate cultural norms while achieving our objectives without a male chaperone. Would you agree with this assessment, Kirijo-san?”

“Absolutely,” Mitsuru said leaning forward confidently. Alejandro was clearly biting back an argument.

“Then I believe the issue is settled. Alejandro, I’ll be wiring funds to you shortly. Ensure Kirijo-san crosses the border and catches the next flight out of Phoenix. Remain in Hermasillo for no less than a week before you follow.”

Alejandro sulked.

 

* * *

 

They departed for Phoenix the next morning. Mitsuru looked into the rear-view mirror as Hermasillo disappeared behind her. They’d pass through Nogales this time, for the sake of time. A pang filled her stomach when she wondered if she’d really be able to return here once the work was done. By that time, her company would likely be in ruins and no one would want the help of an embattled former CEO who had been ignorant of an internal scandal.

The drive to Phoenix was refreshingly shorter than their inbound route from Mexico City. They passed forests, alien rock formations, and waves of desert in silence. They crossed the border without incident, although their strange appearances did raise the eyebrows of a few border officials. They continued through Arizona in silence and Mitsuru wondered if Alejandro was still miffed by his uncle’s decision for them to split up temporarily.

Still, Mitsuru knew there would be no better opportunity to breach the conversation that had been in the back of her mind since last week.

“I have a proposition for you, Alejandro,” Mitsuru took a deep breath as an unusual nervous feeling moved into her chest. From the driver’s seat, Alejandro regarded her as though something had suddenly sprouted out of her neck.

Mitsuru allotted herself another long pause. Alejandro drove on patiently.

“I’d like you to serve as my private security detail.”

Alejandro’s befuddled expression grew sharper. The sound of the tires rolling against the pavement filled the car. Mitsuru closed her eyes, bracing herself for disappointment. He was going to say no.

“You want me to be your bodyguard, boss?”

“If you prefer,” Mitsuru said in a tone that clearly indicated her distaste for the term. “Assuming we survive our mission and I retain control of the company, your talents and keen eye for detail would be extremely useful while I’m cleaning house, so to speak.”

Her companion made a wistful sounding grunt before he retreated into deep thought.

“What do you need with a bodyguard?” Alejandro asked at last, his voice still thick from sleep. “Yesterday you toppled a dude twice your size.”

“Appeasement,” Mitsuru said shortly. “Will you consider my offer?”

Alejandro looked at her blankly before turning his eyes back to the road with a large grin.

When they arrived at the airport, Alejandro walked Mitsuru to the security gate with a neutral frown. He handed her a small bag. She didn’t need to look inside.

“Let me guess,” she said with a sigh. “I stick out.”

“You will,” Alejandro nodded. “Don’t lose your temper with Yusuf. He’s a dinosaur, but he knows the extremist network in Beirut better than anyone.”

“We will all do our very best,” Mitsuru said encouragingly. She smiled professionally at Alejandro. “I’ll see you very soon, Alejandro.”

Alejandro scowled at her.

“Don’t get shot, boss.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Sergeant Sanada removed his cap, shaking off the excess rain from his shoulders. The unexpected drizzle had rolled in early morning and was expected to be upgraded to a severe storm by late evening. Ken had messaged him saying he had arrived from the U.S. without incident, but may be a few minutes late meeting him for drinks._

_It was fine by Akihiko. He was meeting someone now anyway._

_There was no crowd to search through in this bar, and Akihiko easily spotted Kurosawa sitting at the bar._

_“I’ll have what he’s having,” Akihiko said, taking a seat at the bar and nodding to the bartender. “Anyone new on the Baltic Technology front?”_

_Kurosawa let out a defeated sigh as he shook his head. He paused before bringing a bottle of beer to his lips._

_“The Board Chair is starting to wonder why we’re talking European nanotechnology over beers instead of politics.”_

_“Not asking a lot here, sir. Just a little detail on the competition.”_

_“His name’s Alvar Laar - sometimes referred to as the Technological Prince of Estonia.”_

_“A prince?!” Akihiko ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus, you can’t be serious.”_

_“Relax, it’s a nickname.”_

_Akihiko shook his head as the bartender knocked a beer against the countertop. He released a distraught sigh before he took a sip of the beer and chewed his lip thoughtfully. This entanglement was only getting worse, and Mitsuru hadn’t made things any easier by concealing the truth._

_After they had returned from Yakushima, Mitsuru had spent several long nights in her home office reviewing piles of portfolios from rival companies. Akihiko had expressed polite interest about the nature of these file reviews, and was met with short and somewhat defensive answers._

_He shrugged it off and figured she was still stressed from the Board pushing a bodyguard on her._

_Akihiko didn’t think of it again until he met Kurosawa for beers after their shift a few weeks later. He could tell Kurosawa was taking extra care to be sensitive, which had scared Akihiko enough to ask what was wrong. Kurosawa had gravely asked how he was handling news of a potential merger. Akihiko had shrugged, not sure how to respond. After all, it was Mitsuru’s company. If she was planning a merger, it would probably be a wild success._

_When Kurosawa had given him a look Akihiko recognized as the ‘This is going to hurt’ expression, Akihiko knew he had grossly misjudged the situation._

_Kurosawa was drinking buddies with the Kirijo Board Chair, and had learned through this contemporary that the Board was giving Mitsuru an ultimatum: Get married or get a bodyguard._

_Akihiko had had a few sparring sessions with Mitsuru to give her a taste of what practical self-defense looked like, but she’d obviously been placating him. Mitsuru was closer to painting the Kirijo Headquarters pink than getting a security detail._

_Receiving this news, Akihiko began to distance himself from Mitsuru. He’d started to ignore her calls and cancel their plans with excuses that work was too busy. Every time he shut her out, it pinched at his gut. Hurting Mitsuru was never part of the plan, but Akihiko to needed time to build up his own portfolio for the Kirijo Board so he could propose to Mitsuru without her getting wind of his plans._

_Why Mitsuru didn’t want Akihiko to know about the ultimatum was less important to him than getting a foot in with The Board. After all, he could explain his motivations and how he had come to acquire the company details later. Fences could be mended._

_The idea of the Board trying to marry off a grown woman off by backing her into a corner was the most egregious part about this whole mess. They were leveraging Mitsuru’s loyalty and her desire to lead with their own designs._

_Akihiko had to stand up to them._

_“They keep raising the stakes on me,” he muttered dismally._

_“No offense, son, but I don’t think they even know you exist. If you just explained your relationship with Kirijo, I’m sure they’d welcome you with open arms.”_

_“Can’t risk that,” Akihiko shook his head. “Not yet. Might cause them to double down on this guy.”_

_“Then make_ Kirijo _aware of your intentions,” Kurosawa instructed deliberately. “Look, the only reason they’re getting away with pigeon holing her into this is because she’s afraid. If you propose, Kirijo will  accept your offer and inform the board of her decision. Then I guarantee you these guys will back off. The Board doesn’t hedge bets against the company heir once she’s made up her mind.”_

_“Can’t do that either,” Akihiko felt a coldness fill his lungs._

_“Why?”_

_“I broke up with her last week.”_

_Kurosawa looked away, shaking his head with obvious disapproval._

_He had to do it, Akihiko reminded himself. Mitsuru kept the topic of marriage so far away from Akihiko, it was clear she wasn’t considering that as a possible recourse. Akihiko needed the time and the space to  better  himself and  convince her and her company that he was worthy._

_“Jesus, Sanada,” Kurosawa grumbled. “I know you like a good challenge and all, but breaking up with the girl you’re trying to marry? A little counterproductive, don’t you think?”_

_“I need to dedicate myself entirely to work. The Board won’t take me seriously if I’m a Sergeant. I need  a Lieutenant rank at the very least if I want to stack up to some of these guys they’re lining up.”_

_“And you explained all of this to Kirijo.”_

_Akihiko rubbed his hands against his beer. He had to do it, he told himself for the millionth time. This was his idea. Mitsuru had enough to deal with. She just needed to hold out long enough against the Board for Akihiko to get a good word in-_

_“I’m disappointed in you, son,” Kurosawa sighed. Akihiko forced his chin up high, steeling himself against the harsh words. “You’ve known her pretty much your entire life: You owe her more than that.”_

_“Look, this isn’t permanent-”_

_“How the hell is she supposed to know that?”_

_“If I told her anything about this, she’d only try to stop me. She’d-”_

_“Ask you to marry her.”_

_“And I’d say no.”_

_“Right. Because her proposing to you would just make this too damn easy.”_

_“Captain, I can’t look like I’m hiding behind Mitsuru. The Board needs to know I’m not some feckless guy who’s trying to take advantage of their CEO. They need to see I’m a man with station who isn’t afraid to walk in those doors and-”_

_“You know what I think, Sanada?” Kurosawa cut him off, swiveling his barstool to face his protege.  “If the man I’m looking at now can’t walk through those board room doors, and tell the Board that he’s marrying the woman he loves with or without their blessing, it doesn’t matter if he’s a rookie cop or Chief of Police. He’s just a gutless badge who doesn’t deserve Mitsuru Kirijo.”_

_Kurosawa stood up and dropped a few bills on the counter._

_“You were enough for her when you were a runny-nosed kid, Sergeant. Maybe someday you’ll get that through that thick skull of yours.”_

_He clapped a heavy hand against Akihiko’s back before pulling on his overcoat and leaving. Akihiko glowered at the remnants of his beer, the foamy beverage curdling in his stomach._

_“Evening, Akihiko-san.”_

_A lively presence dropped into Kurosawa’s vacated barstool._

_Ken Amada smiled at him, but Akihiko deciphered a strange sadness in the college student’s expression. Probably just jet lag._

_“Hey,” Akihiko straightened his back and cleared his throat, jutting his hand out to Ken. “Welcome home. How long have you been here?”_

_“Not long,”  Ken answered dismissively as he shook Akihiko’s hand. The smile on his face remained tight. “How about a fresh one?”_

* * *

 

**January**

Akihiko’s skin was covered in goosebumps. A strange cocktail of anger, shame, and regret stirred around in his gut and tickled at his nerves. In the backseat, Aigis was silently staring ahead at the road, knowing better than to get involved in this particular conversation. Ken had just finished retelling his account of that night and his hands were drained of all color as they clenched the steering wheel.

“You were there the whole time?” Akihiko murmured, cinching his eyebrows. Outside, he could almost see the desert heat sizzling as it blurred by. He should have been angry. He should have been livid. Instead, Akihiko just felt defeated.

“I was waving at you from the back like a crazed idiot when you walked in,” Ken laughed exasperatedly, waving his arms for emphasis.

Akihiko hardened his gaze on the passing scenery.

“I saw you sit down next to Kurosawa and I came up to join you, but then I heard what you were talking about so I hung back. I was going to walk away, but. . .”

Ken shook his head miserably.

“The conversation was about two people I care about,” he finished with a sad shrug. “I couldn’t just disengage.”

“You heard all of it?” Akihiko confirmed, still unable to fathom how he’d been so oblivious that night. He sharply reconsidered. He’d obviously had other things on his mind on that particular evening.

“Every word,” Ken’s voice rose impatiently. “And you know what? After I finished at the bar with you, I paid a visit to Mitsuru-san. It took a few glasses of wine to get her talking about you again, but do you know what she told me? She said she was _happy_ for you. You could finally become the officer you always wanted to be without any obligations holding you back. _Obligations,_  Akihiko-san.”

“That’s not how I felt about her,” Akihiko snarled, pumping his fists in his lap.

“I know that. Jesus, we _all_ know that,” Ken groaned. “But she didn’t.”

“She _should have_.”

“What are you? Twelve?” Ken snorted, glaring out the windshield.

“Watch it,” Akihiko warned. Ken plowed on.

“Just like you _should have known_ she’d take on an arranged marriage rather than try and coerce you into choosing between her and your career?”

Akihiko shut his mouth, not appreciating the latest in a long string of schoolings from someone several years his junior. In the backseat, Aigis spread open an atlas to cover her face. Apparently, the conversation was personal enough to cause a robot to feel embarrassed.

“Mitsuru-san told me about how her company’s Board were pushing mergers on her left and right,” Ken continued quietly.  “A few more glasses of wine, and she spilled just what _kind_ of mergers the Kirijo Group was looking at. The next morning she made me promise not to tell anyone a word of what she had said. That this was a company affair, not personal, and should be handled by her alone.”

Ken sighed, exhausted.

“So there you go. That’s how I know about your relationship with Mitsuru-san in a nutshell. Neither of you talked to each other, both of you thought you were inadequate or in the way, and neither bothered to ask the other if those convictions had any truth.”

Silence plugged the car. A wave of excuses, justifications, and good reasons for his breaking up with  Mitsuru rained down upon him, but nothing stuck. In the end Akihiko had to swallow two hard truths: She was stubborn, and he was an idiot.

“You’d make a great cop,” Akihiko grumbled.

“More like therapist.”

“That’s pushing it.”

In the backseat, Aigis breathed a sigh of relief.

 

* * *

 

They stopped outside of Agua Prieta for lunch. To their shock and surprise, the attitudes of the locals had completed reversed. Men tipped their hats to them, women waved at them with wide grins, and the children followed Ken’s car singing and chanting rhymes. The man in the small corner shop bellowed at them happily and offered them a free lunch. No matter how much they refused, he would not take no for an answer.

Ava and her friends could spread news faster than a wildfire.

Not wanting to linger or draw any more attention, they parked behind a gas station and ate in Ken’s car. Ken seemed pensive.

“What do we do now?”

“As far as we know, Mitsuru’s still in Beirut,” Akihiko swallowed a savory lump of beans and rice. “An Iranian flower market isn’t much to go off of, but right now it’s all we got.”

Akihiko watched Aigis shoot Ken a furtive look, which was averted by Ken shyly.

“Okay,” Akihiko cleared his throat, wadding up his napkin and stuffing it into the empty Styrofoam bowl. “Spill it you two.”

Ken sighed.

“I think . . . I think I want to stay here.”

Akihiko had hardly enough time to register Ken’s statement before Aigis chimed in.

“I do as well.”

Akihiko whipped around, pinning Aigis with an incredulous stare.

 

* * *

 

 

After the initial shock wore off, Ken and Aigis’ decision made an awful lot of sense to Akihiko. Both of his friends had a knack for mentorship and were always ready to lend a helping hand. Aigis had always been a free spirit and Akihiko was prepared to support her in whatever she chose to do. Still, he had cause to worry about Ken.

“What about your classes?”

Ken made a noise somewhere between a hiss and a sigh.

“Well, I haven’t technically registered for my spring coursework yet.”

“What?” Akihiko asked.

“I can go back anytime!” Ken rushed, waving his hands. “Really, it’s no big deal. Besides, this is more important.”

Akihiko sighed with uncertainty.

“It’s your future at stake here, Ken.”

Ken nodded and pursed his lips.

“I’ve been thinking about Shinjiro-san. Without him, and well, all of you. . . I wouldn’t know what Kala-Nemi would be like today. You guys,” Ken turned to Aigis and smiled. “You helped me become the man I am today. He’s the reason I have a strong and _good_ persona. Shinjiro-san would want me to do the same for these kids.”

Akihiko dropped his head back against the seat and frowned. Faced with the Shinji card, he had nothing.

“Don’t worry, Akihiko-san,” Aigis laid a comforting hand on Akihiko’s shoulder. “Soon, we will all be together again.”

Akihiko’s lips quirked into a crooked smile as he turned around to face her. She squeezed his shoulder, and Akihiko suddenly was more concerned about himself traveling to  Beirut without her steady temperament and calming way with words.

“Just keep each other out of trouble,” he muttered, focusing back on Ken.

“Why’d you look at me when you said that?” Ken gasped innocently.

“I believe Akihiko-san thinks you may have romantic designs for Ava,” Aigis explained for the benefit of nobody. Ken simply whistled with a sly grin as  he put the car in reverse.

 

* * *

 

Akihiko took a seat on the bus and immediately noticed that he had caused a blast radius around himself. No one wanted to sit within two seats of him.

He didn’t blame them. Akihiko looked pretty roughed up, and in this part of Mexico, that mean he had earned the ire of the cartel. He was bad news.

Happy not to be harassed for the next five hours en route to Phoenix International Airport, Akihiko leaned his head against the window of the bus and closed his eyes.

Ava had practically squashed Ken and Aigis in her embrace. Her gratitude had been fierce, and Akihiko had no doubt she and her colleagues would ensure his friends would be treated with the utmost hospitality and respect. As soon as he found Mitsuru, he would call them.

Akihiko’s phone buzzed in his pocket. A pang of dread  hit him in the gut when he saw it was Fuuka calling. Something must have happened.

“What’s wrong?” He immediately asked.

“I’m all right, senpai,” Fuuka cleared her throat and laughed nervously. “Junpei and Yukari are okay, too, just worried. How are you all doing down there? We haven’t heard from you since you called in Phoenix.”

“I’m fine,” Akihiko said shortly. “We’re all fine. Ken and Aigis are staying in Mexico for the time being. I’ll explain later. What’s going on, Fuuka?”

“Well, a lot’s been happening in Port Island since last month,” Fuuka paused and Akihiko did not take her statement as good news. Still, he tried to hear her out.

“It’s a long story, but when I got back from Paris, the Kirijo Company Board Chair was waiting for me at my apartment.”

Akihiko pounced.

“What happened? Did he threaten you? Fuuka, tell me where you are and I’ll get Kurosawa to-”

“Please, Akihiko-senpai, I’m fine. But um, he would like to speak with you.”

Akihiko was floored. She must be referring to Kurosawa-

“Is this Lieutenant Akihiko Sanada?” a deep voice replaced Fuuka’s. Akihiko was trembling. The blast radius of people fanned out further.

“Listen to me very carefully,” Akihiko said deliberately. “I don’t care who you are, how much money you have, or who your friends are. If you hurt my friends, I’ll find you and will personally ensure you get a taste of the full extent of the law-”

The Chair simply laughed.

“My, Kirijo-san was not making an understatement when she extolled your loyalty.”

Akihiko’s threat died in his throat. Stunned, he missed his opportunity to continue his vehement outburst and the Chair continued.

“I must apologize for not making your acquaintance earlier.”

Unsure of how to reply, Akihiko pushed his lips together in an angry frown.

“Our surveillance equipment caught Yamagishi-san entering Kirijo-san’s townhome last month. She told me she had just returned from Paris and was attempting to gather information from Kirijo-san’s computer. I quickly stopped and deleted the surveillance footage before rushing over to Kirijo-san’s townhome. I believe I gave her quite the scare when I intercepted her in the act of infiltrating Kirijo-san’s data files!”

“Wait, wait,” Akihiko breathed. “You deleted the surveillance footage?”

“Yes. I believe this was the third time I did so. I’m becoming quite skilled! Let’s return to that point later, shall we?”

Akihiko found himself nodding.

“I immediately made it clear to Yamagishi-san that I was not there to turn her in to the authorities or harm her. Indeed, I wished to lend my assistance in locating Kirijo-san. You see, since Kirijo-san’s disappearance, the Board has consistently voted to keep her disappearance and our search for her clandestine. Rest assured, I have and continue to be a voice of dissent in these proceedings. This is a matter for law enforcement, not for financial wizards. At first, I assumed positive intent behind my colleagues’ motivations for keeping this matter out of police hands, but it soon became apparent to me that Treasurer Akabe and his allies were less concerned about Kirijo-san’s well-being and more concerned about _other matters_.”

“Such as?”

“To be very honest with you, Lieutenant, I believe Treasurer Akabe has been undermining and indeed plotting a takeover of the Kirijo Company for several years now. When Kirijo-san was involved with the motorcycle crash, I had some evidence to suggest that it was no accident. I believe Treasurer Akabe was behind the foiled kidnapping plot. However, the evidence was insufficient and Kurosawa could not help me pursue the matter.”

Akihiko choked back the _I knew you son of a bitches were behind this_ comment rising in his throat and settled on clenching his fist on his thigh. He realized he was glaring venomously at a cringing old woman two seats ahead of him and quickly averted his glare.

“To my dismay, it was not long after that the Treasurer suggested to arrange a marriage between Kirijo-san and a company rival. The majority of the board members, rattled, were quick to approve of the idea. Again, I was a voice of dissent in this matter. Since the majority ruled, however, I had to fall in line behind my fellow members. The only recourse I was able to offer was that she procure a bodyguard instead of a husband. I thought this option would protect her from forces inside the company as well as without. Both options seemed equally unpalatable to her, as you may very well recall. I realize now my good intentions only afforded another way for the Treasurer to box Kirijo-san in and limit her freedom as CEO.”

Akihiko heard the older gentleman shift on the other line and for a moment he could almost hear Fuuka wringing her hands.

“The situation has become increasingly sinister. You see, with the help of my credentials, Yamagishi-san was able to retrieve some of the files purged from Kirijo-san’s computer. We followed the clues back to the company archives, and have found a disturbing pattern of questionable purchases in the Charitable Giving wing, deliberately signed by Treasurer Akabe on dates where the CEO was absent. No doubt, Kirijo-san was onto Treasurer Akabe’s deceit prior to her disappearance. Unfortunately, I do not feel as though we have enough conclusive evidence to lay charges against the Treasurer.”

Akihiko wanted to point out that it wasn’t the Chair’s call to decide if there was sufficient evidence or not, but he kept this mouth shut out of growing respect.

"In order to prevent Treasurer Akabe from realizing I am on to his games, I have been independently following you and your friends as you work to find Kirijo-san and covering your work so as not to arouse suspicion from Akabe. Hence, why I deleted the Kirijo Company’s surveillance footage of your friends nosing about.”

Again, Akihiko stifled the urge to to unleash a slew of questions fit for the interrogation room. Patience had always been his greatest failing, but at this point, his limited supply of the virtue was completely tapped out.  

“The Treasurer is smart enough to know that a missing persons report will inevitably result in searches of company property,” The Chair continued. “He is stalling for more time. In order to end this, I need your advice, Lieutenant. Is the best course of action to allow Akabe to stall for time or would it  be better to spring a trap?”

“Spring a trap,” Akihiko said curtly.

The Chair was obviously taken back by this quick response.

“Are you certain, Lieutenant? This option may yield unintended consequences for Kirijo-san. I do not wish to do anything that may cause Akabe to lash out and cause her harm.”

“If he does, I’ll be there. She won’t be alone,” Akihiko said, staring out of the window determinedly. “I don’t know exactly what Mitsuru’s planning, but if what we heard in Mexico is any indication, she’s turning up the heat up on the operation end of things. I think she wants to cut off the arm before she attacks the head, but there’s no time for that kind of strategy. This needs to end before she or someone else gets hurt.”

“What do you suggest?” the Chair asked patiently.

“You need evidence that the Treasurer’s been siphoning off funds and defrauding shareholders for nefarious purposes. The only way to do that is to back him into a corner. Make him sweat that the police will find Mitsuru before he does. He’ll act recklessly.”

Akihiko took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“Go to Kurosawa’s office directly. Don’t call, don’t email. File a missing person’s report in person. Don’t speak to the Board, employees, or shareholders about this. Most importantly, bring Fuuka and Chihiro Fushimi with you when you file the report. They’ll corroborate everything. Make sure Fushimi brings hard copies of the files for the schools. That should be enough to get Kurosawa started on a trail.”

“He will want to speak with you.”

“He certainly will. Unfortunately, I’m currently on extended vacation and not available for consultations.”

The Chair released a slight exhale.

“Lieutenant, I strongly advise you to reconsider your pursuit of Kirijo-san. She needs your expertise as an officer of the law. Endangering your own life in this way will not assist her.”

“With all due respect, sir, I never had any intention of helping her as an officer of the law. As her . . .” Akihiko shook his head. “Someone needs to help get it through that head of hers that there’s no way in hell she’s doing this alone.”

“Very well,” the Chair replied agreeably. “I will follow your instructions.”

“Mr. Chair?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“When I find Mitsuru, we have some things to hash out. It’s going to be well, an execution, most likely. Whatever happens, it’s personal. It’s between me and her. Not me, her, and the Company. I’m going to help her and then, with a shred of luck, someday we’ll stop arguing long enough for me to get a proposal in. I will not be asking for your blessing, but it sure as hell would make things a lot easier.”

The old man let out a frail sigh. Akihiko readied himself for the worst, but was met with a desolate murmur instead.

“I sorely wish you had expressed that sentiment several years ago, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah,” Akihiko swallowed. “Me too.”

He only realized how much he loved something until it was taken away from him. Miki, Shinji, and now-

“To clarify,” the Chair continued firmly. “You have had the blessing of the Kirijo Company the day you befriended Kirijo-san. As you say, though, this is a personal matter. Expect no company interventions when Kirijo-san accepts your proposal. Yamagishi-san will be in touch with you as the situation develops. Your friends are in good hands here.”

"Thank you. And. . .” Akihiko paused. “I’m sorry. I think I may have misjudged you, sir.”

“. . . We will speak soon, Lieutenant.”

The Board Chair ended the call.

  



	11. Lockstep

**December**

 

Beirut was a whirlpool of traffic and skyscrapers, a far cry from the dusty small city bricks and mortar of Hermasillo and Agua Prieta. As soon as Mitsuru made her way out of customs with her expertly made travel documents, she made contact with Josue, who promised to relay her safe arrival to Alejandro in Mexico. He issued directions to her living quarters and information about how to reach a man named Yusuf. When Mitsuru pressed Josue for a last name, he deflected and only revealed that her contact was a doctor with an affinity for plants.

“Do mind yourself around the Doctor,” Josue cautioned softly. “He is generous beyond words, but can display a thorny temperament.”

Mitsuru gave her word that she would do her best.

She took a taxi to a neighborhood where the apartment buildings were crammed into narrow streets and telephone wires dangled in clumps against the smoggy sky. At first, Mitsuru wore a headscarf, but took it off in the cab and switched to a loose beret when she observed other women showcasing their modern hairstyles.

Her apartment was a one bedroom unit sandwiched in the middle of a ten story building. While slightly more spacious than the above-bar unit in Hermasillo, it was decidedly colder without Alejandro’s large personality and stature beside her.

She cast off the nostalgic sentiment as best she could and sat down on the bare mattress to flesh out her plan of attack. There were Kirijo Labs that operated out of Beirut, but if Maeda  hadn’t moved his operation to a different location before Mitsuru dismantled operations in Mexico, he certainly had after. Mitsuru didn’t waste time thinking the children were being kept in the city. She’d keep her distance from the Kirijo labs stationed along the industrial fringes of the city until she found the children and returned them to safety. Then she would dismantle those horrid labs, one brick at a time.

Perhaps it was the feeling of being in a large city once again, but Mitsuru suddenly felt crushed under a wave of hopelessness. She was looking for a needle in a haystack. Mitsuru sat with her despondency for a moment before standing up and tucking her hair under her beret.  

She had successfully shut out imaginings of Akihiko’s voice since Hermasillo, but now as she left the small apartment, Mitsuru heard his voice telling her she was in far over her head.

* * *

 

In a society that thrived around mall culture, the ABC Mall was a pinnacle of the posh Beirut lifestyle. There were cinemas, French pastry shops, pet salons, and luxury car stores where patrons could customize Porsches and Bugattis.

Mitsuru checked the time.

Her contact was thirty minutes overdue. She had precious little information about Yusuf, so Mitsuru decided to wait on the second level where she could at least observe the entry and exit points for a large, older man with thick rimmed glasses.

Mitsuru found her mind wandering, focusing on the elaborate fountain in the center of the mall. It was decorated with a small cluster of cherubs, which Mitsuru normally found tacky, but here there was something endearing about the fountain. It reminded her a little of the iconic water spout in the center of Paulownia Mall.

Of a sudden, a sharp rattle, like a horde of snakes filled the mezzanine level. A strange flute like instrument joined in and suddenly the crowds were in an uproar as a lone dancer entered the space beside the fountain. She wore a revealing beaded halter with silk drapes along her back and legs. The entire mall seemed to come alive at the sway of her hips as a loyal band of musicians trailed behind her.

Mitsuru found herself equally enthralled, not just by the dancer’s seductive charm but by the scimitar perfectly balanced on the crown of her head. Transfixed, Mitsuru watched as the dancer plucked the sword by its hilt and began swing the blade with impossible precision across her hips and shoulders, a blend of balance, power, and grace all set to hypnotic that captivated the mass of people congregating around the fountain. Mitsuru could not tear her eyes away from her.

“The only time a woman should have a weapon,” remarked a deep voice beside her. “Is when she dances with it.”

Mitsuru turned carefully to meet the doctor, raising her eyes just slightly to assess his height. He was a tall man, but not thin. Yusuf was shaped like a giant pear, and his peppered mustache obscured whatever smile or frown he wore when he spoke.

“Salaam Alaikum,” she nodded to him.

“Salaam Alaikum,” he replied.

“I must say it is an impressive performance,” Mitsuru said carefully, turning back to the dancer. “Even if it is somewhat of disrespectful display for one’s weapon.”

“Disrespectful?” scoffed Yusuf indignantly. “This delicate flower is far too critical of other cultures. This dance is to honor the power of the sword, to display the critical balance between life and death.”

“In other cultures, a weapon in hand is display enough.”

Yusuf chuckled mirthlessly.

“And what would a lovely creature such as yourself know about the business of battle and bloodshed?”

“Perhaps nothing,” Mitsuru laughed brightly at the insult, turning to him head on. “I do know dancing, however. It’s more more than elaborate balancing acts and glamorous costumes.”

“Oh?” Yusuf’s curious eyes encouraged her to go on.

“A dance is about opposition and mental acuity: Reaction time and manipulation of tempo. When I dance, Doctor, I do not rely on props. I rely on a partner,” Mitsuru concluded, speaking to the sword in the dancer’s hand with admiration.  

“Perhaps,” Yusuf purred and his mustache pushed up in a faint smile. “We are just different dancers.”

“Perhaps,” Mitsuru countered blithely. “We prefer different partners.”

Yusuf peered back at her strangely, as if trying to muster a rebuttal. He ultimately decided to nod in agreement.

“Would you care to follow me? A simple florist such as myself could never aspire to conduct business in such a majestic warehouse such as this.”

Mitsuru smiled wryly at his sarcasm and let him lead the way out of the mall.

* * *

The Iranian Flower Market was beside the waterfront, and the muggy sea air and midday sun made it difficult for Mitsuru to concentrate on Yusuf’s sonorous voice as they drove through the clogged arteries of Beirut traffic.

“Extremists are in the business of fear,” he said when Mitsuru inquired about how he came to be involved with the countermovement inspired by the Al Boutul kidnappings.  “Unlike your enemy in Mexico, these dogs do not strike in the dead of night. They prefer daylight, where their actions can be witnessed. Fear spreads better that way.”

This was a stark contrast from Mexico. Mitsuru would need to build from the ground up this time, which meant unlearning the rules from Hermasillo and relearning those of Beirut.

“Tell me about your resources.”

Yusuf refused.

“The lady is too insistent,” he said, not quite smiling. “Josue and I are old friends. If he trusts his operation to a woman, then I have no choice but to trust his judgement. However, your work in Beirut will be done on my terms.”

“Do not misunderstand me, Doctor,” Mitsuru said with a frank smile. “I have no desire to take your place at the front of your men. I am, however, curious to know how well have ‘your terms’ have proved for your operation?” Mitsuru asked, eyebrows raised.

Yusuf gave a sour laugh in response, but said nothing more for the duration of the drive. They arrived at the flower market and Mitsuru found it difficult to concentrate in the muggy air.

The flower shop was a vibrant contrast from the bulk displays of sod, artificial turf, and trees displayed in front of the other shops. Mitsuru saw long stemmed irises, colossal sized lilies and sunflowers, and trays of hybrid seeds. Yusuf led her to an office that seemed remarkably similar to Josue’s cluttered desk in the back of Poco Hermasillo. She needed only to replace the stacks of papers with vases of plants and flowers.

Yusuf asked her a few questions about the operation in Mexico, all of which Mitsuru answered succinctly and without evasion.

“He knows you’re here,” Yusuf said pointedly. “Maeda.”

“I gave him the courtesy of advance notice,” Mitsuru acknowledged.

Yusuf raised his eyebrows.

“Do you RSVP to all of your enemies by torching their schools?”

“My school,” Mitsuru corrected him.

“Apologies,” Yusuf amended in earnest. “Your actions are honorable, but have a haste appearance that gives me pause. Particularly when you are asking for the reins of  a budding rebel counterstrike. Now that you’ve cornered Maeda, are you prepared for swift retribution?”

“I’m counting on it,” Mitsuru said sharply. “Mexico was the first pawn moved on the board, Doctor. Lebanon will be the implosion. Help me finish drawing Maeda out.”

Yusuf appraised her listlessly for a moment  before reaching into his desk. He retrieved a map and unfurled it on the table, sweeping away a few excess leaves and dried flower petals.

“My men have been monitoring the extremist’s movements,” he explained, his voice suddenly morphing into that of a weathered advisor. “We believe Maeda is working to move the children out through individual shipments via ports and checkpoint villages on the Syrian border,” he tapped the map firmly.

“How many of the kidnapped children have left Lebanon?”

“We have no evidence to indicate any have been trafficked outside of Lebanese borders - _yet_ ,” Yusuf said carefully.

“Then if Maeda’s operation is hit with a threat, he may attempt scatter them into shipments all at once,” Mitsuru said thoughtfully to the map. “Would you agree?”

“Given proper planning,” Yusuf shrugged, anticipating where the conversation was going. “My men could trap a diaspora of enemy targets around the compound.”

“Show me.”

“Here, dear rose,” Yusuf slid his finger on the map. “Near Aarsal. Or so we believe.”

Mitsuru raised an eyebrow.

“Information is treacherous around these parts,” he relayed with a smile. “Even the most loyal of men find the line between us and the extremist to be thin at times.”

“I see,” Mitsuru murmured. “Allow me to be blunt, doctor.”

“As opposed to what?” he jabbed.

“I’m here for reconnaissance. I need access to your resources to help the innocent people my company has harmed. What can you offer me?”

Yusuf settled back in his seat and folded his hands neatly over his stomach. He was ready to bargain.

“Anything the lady desires.”

“Coordinates to the bunker where you believe the children are being kept,” Mitsuru stated. “A firearm for cover, and the tools necessary to monitor the extremist’s activity en route to the border. It’s a more than reasonable, considering your men are currently accessing these resources.”

“The lady wishes to use these resources on her own?”

“Reconnaissance,” Mitsuru repeated with a professional smile. “Information only. Dancing comes later.”

Yusuf grunted but Mitsuru did not hear a ‘no’.

“Anything else?” he asked, twirling his mustache.

“Where can a precious ruby such as myself find a transport for purchase?”

“Shall I procure the lady a palanquin?” Yusuf condescended. “In these modern times-”

“Ducati,” Mitsuru interrupted. “1200.”

Yusuf chewed on the inside of his mouth.

“Does the ruby have cash?”

Mitsuru politely stacked a pile of bills on the counter.

“Return to the ABC tomorrow at noon,” Yusuf sighed at the money. “I’ll have one of my men meet you with your purchase.”

* * *

The polluted city skyline made for a brilliant sunset, and Mitsuru opted to walk back to her temporary home. The opulent malls and French boutiques began to peter out into boxlike dwellings and pop up shops. A wide mix of jewelry, clothing, handbags, and food for sale were crammed together in a narrow side street. While this was hardly the time to shop, (to which Yukari would undoubtedly reply, ‘There is no such thing as a bad time for shopping, senpai’), Mitsuru allowed her curiosity to lead her down the dimming alleyway.

The evening crowd was dense enough that Mitsuru’s appearance went unnoticed. Still, she swapped the beret for the baseball cap Alejandro had given her in Mexico City.

She perused the goods aloofly, never stopping to pause more than a few seconds in front of a display. When the sly vendors began their well-crafted solicitations to Mitsuru, she demurred and quickly moved on. Near the end of the stalls, however, Mitsuru was hopeless drawn into the lights of a tent.

“Hand-crafted,” said the elderly woman. A man, her husband presumably, worked in silence in a brightly lit corner of the small booth.

“May I?”

“Allow me,” replied the woman. With a tenderness and poise that made Mitsuru’s heart ache for Japan, the woman collected the bracelet and fastened it around Mitsuru’s wrist. Enchanted, Mitsuru’s eyes devoured the minute details and craftsmanship of the bracelet.

A row of ice crystals were arranged along a black strand that resembled a tree branch. The delicate spindles were sharp and exact, not made of diamonds she saw, but Mitsuru never cared for those. She was enamored more with the sharp fragility of the ice crystals, painstakingly shaped to imitate nature perfectly.

“We are from Serbia,” said the woman. “Winters are harsh there, but we miss the stillness. Do you like the bracelet? I am willing to part with it for less than the listed price.”

“It is the loveliest bracelet I’ve ever seen,” Mitsuru smiled at the object on her wrist her hand before carefully unfastening it and returning it to the shopkeeper’s open palm. “I’m afraid that in my current line of work, I would only ruin it.”

“Ah,” said the woman with a kind smile, closing her fingers around the bracelet with a mysterious wink. “Then I shall keep it here for you for safe-keeping, until your work is finished. I see you are also drawn to the fragile beauty of ice.”

Mitsuru’s smile faltered. She uttered a quick thanks before fleeing the alleyway and hailing a cab.

* * *

 

The sweltering Beirut night left Mitsuru staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. The upstairs neighbors were laughing and listening to music.

Thoughts flashed in and out of her mind - Alejandro. Ava. the blind boy in chains. Josue and his family. Yukari and the others. Her townhome. Her company, Fushimi. Her now-certainly-dead plant. Akihiko. Her father, Shinjiro. Akihiko.

Mitsuru sighed and tried to focus on sleep. Thoughts were allowed, but she was not to chase them. She was not to follow them.

Akihiko.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mitsuru whispered to herself and sighed, pushing her palm to her forehead. “He doesn’t matter.”

She fell asleep with the lie.

* * *

_Mitsuru was small again._

_She looked down, the perfectly pressed pleats of her uniform skirt swaying with her movement. Her hair was arranged into pigtails that were curled into bouncy waves. She stood on a playground, surrounded by other children. All around her they were laughing, playing, chasing each other, and twirling jump ropes._

_A girl in a hijab stood across from her, smiling. Mitsuru smiled back and the girl pointed to her wrist._

_“Use it,” she instructed._

_Mitsuru looked down at her wrist and saw the tree branch bracelet encircled with ice crystals. She held her wrist up to her eyes and shook her head._

_“Use it,” said another boy. Mitsuru looked into his eyes and saw pale blue orbs surrounded by a cinnamon complexion. She had met this boy before. Mitsuru hugged herself and shrank back. Suddenly, she was no longer in a playground but in a tiny room. The children from the playground were crammed in all around her, closing in on her and pushing her into the corner. Frightened, she tried to pry the bracelet from her wrist but the branch tightened around her skin and clamped down against her bones._

_“Use it,” the children commanded Mitsuru together with urgency, and though they had not raised their voices, Mitsuru felt punctured with fear as they urged her on._

_“I can’t,” she explained, shaking her head. “I’m not supposed to-”_

_“It’s the only way,” the girl said with a desperate hiss. “We won’t ever see the light if you keep it to yourself.”_

_Mitsuru felt herself crying the tears of a little girl. Suddenly a hand seized her wrist and pulled her up. She looked down at the children. They returned her glance with silence, eyes large with hope and admiration._

_She looked down at her wrist, now longer and leaner. An adult once again, she looked up into the eyes of her father._

_“Use it,” he whispered gently, cupping her face in his hands._

_“That’s what they want,” she shook her head. “I’ll only hurt them.”_

_“No,” he said sternly. “You will save them.”_

* * *

The dream woke her up hours before her pre-arranged meeting with Yusuf’s envoy. Rattled, Mitsuru tried to write the dream off as a scrambled subconscious relaying back images and thoughts from the previous day.

She arrived at the ABC Mall, as instructed, and waited for a Ducati 1200 to appear. Mitsuru did not have to wait long. A young man in plain clothes pulled up carefully along the curb where Mitsuru was waiting.

“Ducati 1200?” he asked, removing his helmet. Mitsuru was temporarily halted by his dazzling smile and fine features.

“Yes,” Mitsuru nodded.

He tipped his head to her as he dismounted the motorcycle.

“Have you eaten?” he asked politely, offering her a bottle of water. She took it carefully from his hands.

“Yes,” she lied.

“Excellent. We’ll want to start heading out to the border now if we want to get there before noon. I went ahead and drew up some paperwork for you. It’s not Shakespeare, but it will get you through the checkpoints-”

“I beg your pardon,” Mitsuru interrupted. “ _We_?”

“Sorry,” the young man laughed. “I am Ayad. I’m here to escort you to Aarsal.”

Mitsuru shifted her glance patiently to a traffic packed intersection, a shallow cover for the seething rage she currently felt. A few deep breaths later she returned her sights to Ayad, who was looking at her with growing discomfort.

“I see. The Doctor purports the stereotype of women getting easily lost,” Mitsuru said sternly. “Correct?”

“You are his guest,” Ayad scratched the back of his neck, trying to alleviate the tension with his smile. “As your host, he only wishes to ensure your safety.”

“So be it,” Mitsuru said, knowing that protesting this remarkable display of sexism and paternalism would only waste time. “I hope you drove separately.”

“I’m parked just around the corner,” Ayad nodded vigorously. “Wait here for me and I’ll lead us out.”

* * *

 

Mitsuru’s stomach churned with turmoil as they passed through the checkpoints. The stakes were different in Lebanon than in Mexico, particularly when it came to crossing borders. Military personnel, IEDs, and traps made Mexico’s border crossing seem childlike. Mitsuru followed Ayad’s truck at a careful distance.

Yusuf was proving himself an increasingly difficult ally.

In her business mindset, Mitsuru would have been perfectly at ease with this fact. When potential business partners expressed hesitation, Mitsuru was apt at the art of wooing and persuasion. It took patience, certainly, but Mitsuru always took the risk in order to better her company’s process for acquisition.

This was far from a normal business venture. Patience was a luxury Mitsuru did not have, particularly when crossing a desert full of enemies.  

Ayad signalled her to turn onto a side road. She followed him to a ridge and parked the bike behind his truck.

“Over here,” he motioned to a dune with a cement platform. “There’s a lookout.”

He offered her a pair of binoculars as they hunched down on the cement block. They flattened themselves down on the hot slab and Mitsuru immediately noticed the perch was hardly obscured from the enemy’s line of sight. Mitsuru dismissed the feeling of trepidation and replaced it with stalwart focus on the bunker.

“How many guards?” she asked.

“Thirty, at least,” Ayad responded softly, resting his chin on his hands. “We think the bunker goes at least three stories underground.”

“How many children?”

Ayad paused.

“We think a dozen, perhaps two.”

Mitsuru swallowed the number bitterly, her eyes locked onto the black rectangle in the distance. The heat was rising in waves, giving the building a gelled texture through the binoculars.

When an armored truck turned the south corner of the building and and pulled up alongside a freight door, Mitsuru had a clear eye on what was about to happen.

Her fingers tensed around her binoculars.

“They’re taking one of them,” she thought aloud.

Beside her, she felt Ayad inhale sharply.

“Are you armed?” Mitsuru turned to him. He nodded to her quietly and revealed a pistol, secured in a holster inside his jacket.

She looked back in time to peer through the lenses and glimpsed a man hauling up the small frame of a child into the truck. He slammed the doors and pounded his fist against the doors. The truck was off.

Mitsuru shot to her feet.

“We need to intercept that vehicle before it reaches the Syrian border,” she ordered.

“We’ll be outnumbered-” Ayad said, even as he hustled to the truck and opened the driver’s side door.

“We do not need to take down the entire compound,” Mitsuru said as she buckled herself into the passenger’s seat. “Just the truck.”

Ayad thrust the truck into gear and careened down the ridge into the sprawling desert.

* * *

 

They gained on the truck quickly, and Mitsuru felt a twinge of fear as Ayad methodically weaved over invisible obstacles in the eroded road. She reminded herself that Yusuf’s men had most likely had identified all of the mines in the area and let the urgency of rescuing the child override the sudden suspicion of her driver.

“Pistol,” Mitsuru stretched out her hand. Ayad kept a hand on the steering wheel as he removed the gun from its caching with the other. Mitsuru took it from him, rolled down the window, and perched herself on the frame.

She steadied her breath first, and her arms followed. She fired the shot and the report was lost in the waves of sand. The back left tire sagged and Mitsuru retreated to inside the vehicle, expecting an immediate retaliatory strike from the vehicle ahead. Even with one flat tire, the truck surged on. Military grade. She was going to have to do better than one tire to stop the truck.

Mitsuru frowned.

The truck carried on - No one emerged to return fire.

“Only one guard?” she pondered aloud.

“I don’t understand it either,” Ayad said tersely as he pushed down on the accelerator. “I’ll line you up to take out the back right.”

_Use it._

A girl’s voice filled her head. Mitsuru hesitated before returning to the ledge. She emptied another bullet into the back right, and with precision that would certainly elicit a grunt of approval from her teacher Alejandro, flattened the tire.

The truck swiveled slightly, just as the truck had swerved and pivoted horribly in Mexico, before coming to a halt. It seemed too easy, but Mitsuru wasn’t going to hesitate here, not now.

Mitsuru opened the door when Ayad seized her wrist.

“Here,” he opened his hand for the gun. “I’ll cover you.”

 _Use her_ , the voice said frantically. Mitsuru complied.

Mitsuru and Ayad exited the vehicle. She went for the doors of the truck, her feet hitting the sand heavily. Something tugged at her, and Mitsuru found herself suddenly fighting to close the distance between herself and the truck.

_USE HER OR YOU’LL DIE._

Mitsuru pulled the doors open and locked eyes with the headscarved girl from her dream.  

Mitsuru opened her mouth to speak and reached out to take her in her arms when the little girl shook her head frantically, mouth covered with a strand of fabric.

“Turn around,” Ayad’s soft voice mocked. “Hands up.”

Mitsuru obeyed, tearing her eyes away from the little girl. A swell of angry tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back. Think, think.

_Use her. Use the ice queen._

No, Mitsuru shook her head. That’s what they wanted. They wanted Mitsuru to defend herself with Artemisia. They’d force the girl to summon a counter-attack. With forced summoning, malnutrition, and a host of other maladies this girl had certainly suffered, the effort of conjuring a cobbled together persona could seriously injure or even kill the inexperienced child.

“Over there,” Ayad flicked the muzzle of the gun. Mitsuru cast another look back at the truck as she walked away, hoping that the girl could forgive her for what was about to happen.

Ayad marched her to the top of a dune’s crest, just yards away from the truck. He flashed his dazzling smile at her as she watched, helpless, as the driver exited the truck, roughly removed the girl from the back of the truck by her arm and dragged her to Ayad’s vehicle.

“Just going to stand there?” Ayad taunted.

Mitsuru held her arms, bent ninety degrees at her elbows, and stared back at him in silence.

“Go ahead. Save yourself,” he coaxed, fingers curling around the trigger.

“How, exactly?” Mitsuru said haughtily. “You’re the one with the gun, not me.”

“Do you need a gun?” he cooed, tapping the trigger maddeningly.

Mitsuru stared back defiantly.

In her mind, Artemisia howled. The deadly persona laid out all of the ways she could destroy the petty creature in Mitsuru’s mind, but Mitsuru pushed them away. Whatever secrets Maeda wanted from Mitsuru’s persona, how to formulate the forced summoning procedure without ill consequence, without maiming or killing the subject, would not be torn from her through the petty baits of a henchman.  

“Just as I thought,” Ayad sighed. “You don’t have the power of persona. Not only is Maeda an idiot, but he’s chicken shit for being afraid of a cocky bitch. Still, I guess there’s only one way to find out for sure,” he squeezed the trigger with a flippant sigh.

Her ribs exploded with pain. Mitsuru dropped to her knees, gasping. Ayad said something to her, but Mitsuru’s head was filled with shrill screaming. Artemisia twisted and clawed at her, demanding to be set free, to heal, to retrieve her mistress from the edge of death. Still, Mitsuru did not yield to her persona’s demands.

Ayad was simply staring at her now. Mitsuru squinted up at him. Her mouth filled with a metallic taste which she stubbornly swallowed down.

He stood expectantly as Mitsuru’s breathing escalated with stress. She urged herself not to panic, that a rasping, broken breath was still breath. With her pain laid bare for Ayad to enjoy, Artemisia's despairing pleas erupted in her ears and Mitsuru had to close her eyes to shut them out. If she did not keep a tight rein on her persona, Artemisia was not beyond emerging of her own volition.

Mitsuru slumped over into the sand. She cracked her eyes open just wide enough to see Ayad frown at her with disappointment.

“Even if I had another bullet in here,” he sighed, tossing the gun into the sand. “I wouldn’t waste it on something so pathetic.”

He was walking away from her, but Mitsuru was transfixed on the truck. She watched it pull away from her and return to the compound, the sting of failure and metal burrowing deeper in.

Artemisia's cries of anguish fell sharply silent.

* * *

Mitsuru blinked up at the rising desert sun and summoned enough energy to lick the dirt away from her lips.  Underneath her, the sand was painted red. Exit wound. No bullet to fish out, she considered, but double the blood loss. She was bleeding steadily below her left ribcage, and by the way she labored to breathe, Mitsuru knew the bullet had at the very least clipped a lung. She cupped a hand over the wound.

She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she knew the sun had climbed upward, but couldn’t recall exactly where it had been prior to her losing consciousness.

Her lapse in being had been marred by one unusual occurrence. In the shallow oblivion that preceded death, Mitsuru’s mind had buzzed with a strange vision. She had seen Fuuka, huddled into a fetal position and trembling. A cloud of strange whispers had filled Mitsuru’s ears. The voice was familiar, but too far away to hear clearly. Fuuka was mouthing something and Mitsuru realized that her friend had not only heard the whispering, but also the message it contained.

Her brain was re-configuring itself, preparing for a total shut down, she realized. Images of her loved ones should not be entirely unexpected.

The soft swishing of footsteps drawing closer filled her ears and Mitsuru willed herself to swallow the lump in her throat. His silhouette blotted out the blazing sun.

“What was it I said again?” Shinjiro sighed, sniffing. “Something about you dying in a godforsaken desert?”

“‘There is no need to gloat,”  Mitsuru murmured. “Show a little decency.”

Shinjiro scoffed at the tepid reprimand and continued to revel in being proved right.

“How do you like the sweet kiss of lead?”

“I do not care for it,” answered Mitsuru, eyes determinedly closed. The sun was too bright but Mitsuru couldn’t quite place the warmth falling over her body on the desert.

“Loss of blood,” Shinjiro helped. “Gives you the warm and fuzzies. It’s your body going into shock, covering you with a warm blanket before hitting the emergency shutoff valve. Anything to spare you from skull-splitting pain.”

Mitsuru acknowledged him with a non-committal hum.

“Still, sucks you gotta wait it out,” Shinjiro said, staring directly into the sun. “One to the chest, one to the back. That’s the way to go.”

“Why are you here?” Mitsuru croaked and then hissed. A sharp, nettling pain pushed against her nerves.

“Well,” he slumped down into the sand beside her with a tired sigh. “It really helped that I didn’t die alone. Thought I’d return the favor.”

“Does this mean you and I have a problem?”

“Looking forward to our reunion that much, Mitsuru?” Shinjiro teased, picking up a fistful of sand and letting it slip through his fingers. “Don’t get too excited. It won’t be long before Aki finds out what you’ve done.”

“Stop that,” Mitsuru rebuffed. She instantly regretted spending energy on the retort. She could feel her blood slowing down in her veins, the pulse of life reaching a mere whisper. Akihiko would not be confronting her unless he wanted to take issue with a dead woman.

“You still don’t think he’ll come after you, do you?” Shinjiro said, his voice childlike.

How could he? How could anyone? Mitsuru coughed, feeling too sleepy to argue with the dead teenager.

“I-”

“Oh, believe me, I know. You thought you had this all figured out,” Shinjiro chortled. “You’d settle your affairs, tie up those loose ends so that in the likely event of your death, no one would risk their neck to look for a dead woman. Bravo, sweetie.”

Shinjiro applauded insultingly before laying back in the sand beside Mitsuru.

“Did you ever consider the possibility that Artemisia might have different plans?” he asked, turning on his side to give her an odd smile.

Mitsuru forced her eyes open, squinting weakly at the sky.

“She’s-”

“Gone. The second that bullet hit you, the second you refused to summon her power to heal yourself, didn’t you feel the tiniest bit alone?”

Shinjiro sighed impatiently.

“Artemisia bounced, honey. She turned tail and reached out to the only person who wouldn’t dismiss her pleas for help as a bad dream.”

Mitsuru blinked.

Fuuka. Artemisia was speaking to Fuuka.

“Still think I’m bluffing?”

Mitsuru laughed scornfully, the spots of light in her eyes doubling.

“Yes, now that I’m inches from death’s door, I feel confident calling your bluff. I’m assured that the only person I have to deal with now is you.”

“Now how am I supposed to keep from gloating when you are always so wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong?” Shinjiro lamented as he brushed a few strands of hair from her eyes. With a smile, he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek.

It fell against her face with a sick crack, and Mitsuru felt her head swing back into the sand.

A firm pressure hovered over her right cheekbone.

Mitsuru groaned and shook her head. She opened her eyes once again and identified Alejandro, wearing the most serious and angry expression she’d ever seen on a human being. Judging by the way Alejandro’s hand was positioned, he must have hit her fairly hard.

“Alejandro?” she croaked.

“Damn it, boss! I told you not to get shot!”

“Here now, dear boy, that is no way to revive a patient,” came a patronizing voice. “Gather her up, try not to jounce her too much-”

Mitsuru hissed in pain as she felt Alejandro’s arms hoist her up with dizzying speed. Her mind snapped off a light that only returned with a wild round of shouting.  

“Why ain’t she talking?!”

“Bullets don’t make for happy conversationalists,” sang Yusuf, even as he took a hold of Mitsuru’s neck and pinched a nerve just below her skull. To his clear satisfaction, Mitsuru inhaled sharply.

“You know that better than anyone. You just focus on finding cover, and I’ll focus on keeping her alive,” the doctor finished.

Mitsuru blearily scanned her surroundings and found herself on the swaying bed of a moving truck. She looked up at Yusuf, the accusation in her eyes ringing clear. She spotted a needle, thread, and tweezers in his hands. He relaxed slightly and smiled at her.

“What a hardy rose you are, Kirijo-san!” he smiled. Mitsuru did not fail to notice the honorific, but felt less than inclined to give the doctor credit for what was clearly too little too late.

“Traitor,” she spat.

“Try not to speak,” Yusuf said calmly. “You’re in very poor shape.”

Mitsuru’s eyes fluttered on Yusuf’s fuzzy outline above her.

“Keep her talking, Doc,” Alejandro contradicted.

“Mind the road, Alejandro. Kirijo-san, did you know I have a daughter?” Yusuf queried politely, threading the needle.

“My sincere condolences to the young lady,” Mitsuru muttered, her vision flickering on the surreal new scene before her. She swallowed the painful lump in her throat and concentrated on minimizing the harsh rasp in her breath.

“Are you hearing this, Alejandro? Remember, there’s no surer sign of life than feistiness!” Yusuf laughed brightly.

“Shut the hell up and stop the bleeding!” came Alejandro’s booming reply.

 “Her name is Mariam,” Yusuf continued loftily, and Mitsuru spotted a small square of blood-soaked gauze pinched between the tweezers. Mitsuru’s senses were slowly returning to her and she realized Yusuf was pressing down firmly on her ribcage. The uncertain state of her lungs had to be the reason he was delaying closing her wounds.

“Punctured?” Mitsuru weakly placed her hand over his for reference.

“Just grazed, I believe, but I’m not completely certain,” Yusuf nodded seriously. “Normally, I would hesitate to take any action until I can confirm I’m right. Unfortunately, you’ve lost a good deal of blood. I will need to suture you up right away.”

“In a moving vehicle?” Mitsuru murmured, more impressed with the idea than afraid.

“Hopefully our dear Alejandro can locate a straighter road, but yes. Waiting is out of the question, I’m afraid. Now, before you quite rudely interrupted me, I was boasting about my daughter. May I continue?”

Were Akihiko here, Mitsuru could have relied on him to say ‘Knock yourself out’. Even at death’s door, she thought the retort wouldn’t have the same effect coming from her. She closed her eyes in a drawn out blink.

“Mariam is about your age and has all your spice and stubbornness. Thankfully, she does not share your zeal for two-wheeled vehicles, but can ride well enough from point A to point B.”

Mitsuru swallowed hard and resisted the urge to shut her eyes again. Yusuf applied another hard push to her wound and elicited a strangled yelp from Mitsuru.

Alejandro cursed at Yusuf and Yusuf cheerily cursed right back. Mitsuru refrained from cursing, but just barely.

“Mariam, not Ayad, was to meet you with your transport this morning. When I found her at the flower shop this morning, I inquired after the reason for her presence. She accosted me with a very rude comment about my age and reminded me that I had told Ayad to meet you instead of her.”

Something sharp pressed into Mitsuru’s skin. Her body signalled her of the pain, but Mitsuru felt the sensation come and go too quickly to express the scream in her throat.

“Did that hurt?” Yusuf asked kindly.

“Yes,” Mitsuru grit out. She bit her tongue to avoid adding the words ‘obviously’ and ‘you chauvinist idiot’.

“That’s good and bad,” Yusuf chirped. “Good that you’re coming out of shock. Bad because I need to seal the entry and exit wounds, and I lack a proper anesthetic to get you through the next fifty miles of road.”

She closed her eyes, this time for an extended span of time.

Mitsuru felt a cold slap on her cheek. Lighter than Alejandro’s panicked touch, certainly, but still remarkably painful. Mitsuru swore that if she lived-

“You’ll pay for that,” Mitsuru murmured weakly.

“Where was I? Oh yes. You can imagine my surprise upon hearing this, as I had issued no such order to Ayad. As I disclosed to you earlier, even those I believe to be loyal can find the line between themselves and the other to hard to discern. As luck would have it, Alejandro arrived just as I had discovered Ayad’s betrayal. Your Ducati led us to you, and not a moment too soon, I might add.”

Mitsuru lost focus on the doctor’s words and realized she was about to slip away again, this time, she knew, there would be no flickering in and out between lucidity.

She recognized this sensation immediately, having experienced the yawning chasm of unconsciousness many times in Tartarus. A slap to the face would hardly be enough to wake her. Only a Samarecarm or the skilled hand of a medical professional would bring her back from this brink.

“What is your specialty?” Mitsuru murmured hazily, regretting her question immediately.

“Botany,” replied the doctor blithely as he placed a warm, blood spattered hand over her forehead. “This is going to hurt.”

The steel bite of a needle pushed into her skin and Mitsuru felt herself jerked into a deep and rich nothingness.  

* * *

 

**January**

It didn’t take him long to get directions to the Iranian Flower Market, but just as Akihiko slipped into a taxi, he turned on his phone a collection of three voicemails from Kurosawa and a fresh incoming call from Yukari.

“Someone followed me home last night,” she said, her voice raw. “And another guy has been waiting at my bus stop all day long. I called in sick.”

“Where are you?”

“A girlfriend’s house,” she whimpered.

Akihiko could tell she had waited until the tears had dried to call him.

“Senpai, I’m so freaked out-”

“After we hang up, call Kurosawa,” Akihiko rubbed his eyes.  “Then call Junpei and tell him to get Chidori and Koromaru packed up. If I had to place a bet, Kurosawa is working with Fuuka, Fushimi, and the Chair to get together an op to catch the Board Treasurer, which means you all need to go to a safehouse.”

“Geez, Fuuka, shit, I completely forgot. I haven’t heard from her since she went into the police station with Chihiro and the Chair,” Yukari breathed. “I can’t believe this-”

“They’re fine. Kurosawa’s probably asked them to stick around until he can warrant putting in protective measures-” Akihiko bit his lip in frustration as the taxi driver laid on the horn and shouted out an open window to a pair of careless pedestrians.

“Do you understand?” Akihiko said hoarsely. “You’ve got people hanging around your place, which is all Kurosawa needs to justify pulling everyone involved off the radar.”

Kurosawa have been calling him right now, but his superior had clearly given up on contacting him, judging by the pattern of the voicemails. The first being urgent, the last being short and a simple dictation of time and orders to hurry up and stop dawdling. Kurosawa was moving forward on his own and was without a doubt putting some Port Island’s best Detectives onto an operation intended to catch Akabe in the act of a wire transfer.

“Senpai, I’m scared. These guys just don’t seem like they’re afraid of police-”

“So ask Kurosawa to personally pick you up and drive you to the station. You’re an old friend, Yukari. He’ll do it for you and the others. Besides, no one, no matter how highly paid by the Treasurer, is going to risk crossing him on the street.”

Yukari started to sniffle through the line and Akihiko closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Yukari, listen to me. Get ahead of this before it blows up. I’m close to finding Mitsuru, I know it. Kurosawa and I just need a little more time to unravel this whole mess. In the meantime you have to round everyone up and lay low.”

“Okay,” Yukari breathed slowly into the receiver. “Okay, so what do I do again?”

Akihiko told her to call Kurosawa’s direct number.

“Right, duh, sorry. Ask for an escort, right?”

Ask for Kurosawa to pick her up directly, he stressed.

“Don’t forget to tell him about the men hanging around your place. Tell him you know Fuuka’s been working with the police about an embezzlement scheme that’s directly linked to Mitsuru’s disappearance. Tell him you believe you and the others are in danger. That’s all he needs to  bring you, the Ioris, and Koromaru in, I promise.”

“Okay,” Yukari sighed shakily. “You’re right. Are you in Beirut?”

“Yeah, following up on a possible lead.”

“How will I know if you’ve found her? If you’re okay?” Yukari asked of a sudden, a new urgency rising in her voice.

“You won’t,” Akihiko said carefully. “You'll be sequestered in a safe house.”

“I hate this-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Akihiko interrupted her. “Hang up. Call Kurosawa, then the Ioris.”

Yukari responded with characteristic frustration, but reluctantly agreed.

“See you when the dust settles, senpai?”

“Absolutely,” he promised as the cab pulled up the seaside flower market. “Stay strong.”

He hung up, assured that Yukari and the others would be safe under the watch of Kurosawa and Akihiko's fellow Port Island police officers.

* * *

  
Akihiko found himself wandering a maze of exotic smelling trees and shrubs. With no flower vendor in sight, he scraped together a few coherent transactions between shoppers and store owners and discovered there was indeed a small flower vendor on far end of the market.

The shop was a forest of exotic blossoms. Through the thicket of petaled curtains, Akihiko just barely caught a glimpse of a young woman pruning a rose bush.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked shortly. Her hands were covered with garden gloves and a pile of thick hair was piled behind her head. Her dark eyes flitted on Akihiko suspiciously.

“I’m looking for the owner of this shop,” Akihiko tried, tightening his fingers around the jacket slung over his shoulder. “I’m searching for something very specific.”

The woman’s voice appraised him with unveiled annoyance.

“Is there a reason I cannot assist you, sir?” she asked defensively, dropping the pruning shears with a thud onto the workbench. She propped her hands on her hips defiantly, daring him to speak again.

Akihiko laughed nervously, realizing he had trapped himself.

“Well, I. . . Sorry, it’s just that-”

“What _specific_ item are you looking for, _sir_?” she cut in abrasively, leaning forward impatiently against the bench. Her authoritative body language reminded him instantly of Ava, and Akihiko couldn’t help but step back a little. With a black eye on the mend, he’d been reminded to mind his mouth and manners around strong women.

“Uh-”

“Mariam?” a weary man’s voice called from the back.

Mariam rolled her eyes and sighed.

“One moment, please,” she said in an exasperated tone as she marched to the back of the store and disappeared behind a cloth curtain.

“No problem,” Akihiko murmured to himself. As he took in the wall colored by diverse flora, Akihiko heard the sounds of an argument emanating from the back office. The argument was mostly carried by the woman, he noted, with minimal restraint. He didn’t know a word of Arabic, but Akihiko got the gist of the conversation all the same. Mariam was _very_ unhappy about something.

Mariam re-emerged, glowering at Akihiko.

“Come on then,” she gestured him back, clearly displeased.

* * *

Akihiko had to turn sideways to make it through the cluttered corridor leading to the shopkeeper’s office. He walked in and was met by a tall man with a jovial frame and black rimmed glasses. He stood up to assess Akihiko and offered his hand in welcome. Akihiko shook his hand, glancing down furtively at the blood spatters on the shopkeeper’s otherwise pristine white sleeve.

“Please do not judge my daughter’s temperament too harshly,” the shopkeeper began, quickly pulling his arm and tucking it away under his desk. “She is very protective of this senile old man.”

Akihiko smiled.

“I’m not from here,” he shrugged. “I guess I didn’t know florists in Beirut were in need of protection.”

The shopkeeper laughed heartily.

“Botany is a passion of mine,” he explained, turning on an electric kettle. “Please, have a cup of tea with me.”

“Thank you,” Akihiko nodded. He hated the stuff, but knew a kind gesture when he saw one. He scanned the office and upon initial inspection, found nothing out of the ordinary. However, a second review of his surroundings revealed a set of finely sharpened scalpels protruding from a thicket of tiger lily blossoms.

“Is that what you use to dissect your plants?” Akihiko tipped his head toward the medical apparatus.

The shopkeeper did not follow his gaze.

“Botany is a passion of mine,” he repeated. “But I have other specialties that make me a popular target for unfriendly visitors,” he smiled.

Akihiko was stunned at this admission, but was careful to keep his expression in check.

“That’s an interesting thing to say to a customer,” he responded indifferently. Thoughts of torture flashed through his mind. Keep it steady, Akihiko reminded himself. Remember who had the home court advantage.

“Almost as interesting as a customer who asks for a specific item but is unable to articulate what makes his item so _specific_.”

They stared at each other stubbornly, the electric kettle rustling gently.

“Who are you and what do you want?” the shopkeeper asked patiently, his posture just as relaxed as the smile on his lips.

“I’m Lieutenant Akihiko Sanada with the Tatsumi Port Island Police in Japan,” Akihiko said bluntly, sounding just as tired as he looked.

He realized suddenly that his foul stench and haggard appearance from the twenty plus hours of travel hardly made for the cut and style of a dignified police officer, but Akihiko had nothing else to leverage but honesty.

“Lieutenant,” the shopkeeper replied evenly, betraying no indication of disbelief or deception in Akihiko’s statement.

“You have traveled quite far to play games with an old bumbling florist in a pathetic little flower shop. Perhaps now you remember the details of this specific thing you are searching for?”

The electric kettle shook with pressure and the shopkeeper flicked the kettle off without releasing Akihiko from his piercing gaze.

“Someone very important to me. I think she might be in danger.”

“And you are here to rescue her?”

Akihiko laughed - his first genuine laugh in a month.

“No, God no. She doesn’t do well with rescues.”

The shopkeeper raised his eyebrows curiously.

“I want to help her,” Akihiko said simply.

“I see,” nodded the shopkeeper, tracing the contours of his mustache. “And what makes you believe your friend is here?”

“Let’s just say I ran into an acquaintance of hers in Mexico,” Akihiko said carefully.

“Indeed?” the shopkeeper’s expression revealed nothing as he poured the steaming hot water into an old coffee mug and deposited a teabag. Akihiko nodded and accepted the mug with a slight raise of his arm.

“What makes you believe that your friend is in danger?” the shopkeeper asked, not bothering to obscure his bloody sleeves as he sipped his own mug of tea.

“Crazy stuff,” Akihiko sighed, leaning back into his chair. He rubbed his eyes - he knew he shouldn’t, but they were burning for sleep.

“A mutual friend of ours had a dream where she was shot in a desert. Someone else who met her told me that if I didn’t come here, someone else would put a bullet through her heart.”

“Those are indeed disturbing descriptions,” the shopkeeper murmured. His eyes waxed sharp as he spoke. Seeing his opening, Akihiko quickly latched on.

“The blood on your shirt,” he pointed out quietly. “Is it hers?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes took on a steely edge.

It was a gamble.

Roll with the punches, Akihiko thought, returning the cold stare. He risked losing some vital information if he flat out accused the shopkeeper of something violent, but since Akihiko had left nothing but truth on the table, he had to play the only card he had. He needed this man to give him something and straightest path was through a forced hand.

The shopkeeper reclined slightly in his seat, his jaw clenching and unclenching with indecision.

“Yes,” he ultimately replied with a dark smile. “I believe it is.”

* * *

Akihiko placed the mug on the table, careful not to make a sound as he did so.

The rational, well-groomed mindset he had spent years cultivating on the police force fled in an instant. A flood of anger, fear, and panic filled its place. He planned his route: lunge up, seize him by the neck or arm, pin him, break something, find another appendage to break, break it, repeat. After that, whatever the hell Akihiko felt like doing-

“Is she alive?” Akihiko’s soft whisper was filled with venom and a clear warning for the shopkeeper to answer carefully

The expression on Akihiko’s face must have been lethal, for the shopkeeper suddenly leaned forward with a warm smile.

“When last I checked.”

Akihiko was hardly comforted.

“What did you do to her?” he growled. “Where is she-”  

“Perhaps you might be curious to know about my ‘other specialties’ I mentioned earlier?” he interrupted Akihiko slowly.

“Please,” Akihiko balled his fists in his lip, squeezing them of all color. “Enlighten me.”

“You see, I have always been fascinated with botany, but my true calling has and always will be medicine.”

Akihiko’s trembling ebbed slightly, but the gratifying images of breaking the shopkeeper’s bones still played vibrantly in his mind.

“In a place like this,” continued the shopkeeper. “In times like these, medicine is a dangerous field to practice. Your enemies exploit your talents for repairing broken bodies by kidnapping you, your family, your loved ones, and forcing you to pervert your talent into torture. They force you to break the vow of ‘do no harm’. To protect those dearest to you, you to maim, break, saw, and stretch the human body to its most excruciating limits. When even this is no longer possible - when your patient is empty of their soul and voice, they force you to break your vow. They force you to use your power to heal to murder.”

Akihiko released a shallow exhale.

“My doctorate in Botany allows my closest allies to refer to me as ‘doctor’ without implying that I am anything but a man who made poor educational choices.”

The doctor sipped his tea, eyes twinkling on Akihiko.

“That being said, when your friend was shot in the desert by a treacherous associate-”

Akihiko shuddered, feeling sick to his stomach. He recalled his initial doubt of Fuuka’s dream, and how he’d tried to dismiss her warning as a mere nightmare. It wouldn’t have changed anything, he knew. Mitsuru would still be here, but damn it, he should have been more open all the same-

“I helped find her,” the doctor continued gently. “I closed her wounds. Perhaps most remarkably, I ensured her path to recovery, despite her proving to be the most difficult patient I’ve ever had the pleasure of treating.”

“Where is she now?”

The doctor fixed him with a frank stare.

“Safe,” he said dully after meditating on a mouthful of tepid tea.

Akihiko sighed. With his head now clear of fantasies of torture, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. The doctor eyed him carefully.

“I need to find her,” Akihiko said, his voice raw. His police sensibilities returned to him, but he was too exhausted to paste on a professional expression of objectivity.

The doctor cleared his throat as he poured fresh hot water into his mug.

“I’m afraid I’ve already said too much,” the doctor offered apologetically. “I do not believe you wish the young lady harm, but I do know that she has worked ardently these last months to avoid detection. I need to honor that much at least.”

Akihiko shook his head.

“There must be something you can give me,” he said, trying not to sound like like he was pleading. “Just a hint, somewhere to start-”

“Not I,” the doctor waved his hands.

Akihiko slouched back. Dead end at an Iranian Flower Market. Beirut was a big city, and Mitsuru had the resources to hide. Exhausted, he rubbed his face and shook his head.

“However,” said the doctor lowly. “There is a young man who may lead you where you want to go. He has a very important appointment tonight at the shipping dock at 7pm. He would be your best chance for such information. I do not recommend threats as a means of obtaining this information, however.”

Akihiko sighed, relieved.

“Thank you,” he reached his hand out to the doctor, who gave it a firm shake. “I. . I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Dr. Yusuf Bahar, at your service,” Yusuf said, handing him a plain white business card. Akihiko glanced at the phone number before nodding his thanks and slipping the card into his pocket.

“Call anytime,” Yusuf said warmly.

“Thanks,” Akihiko rose from his seat. He paused, looking down at Yusuf with sudden confusion.

“Doctor. . . why did you tell me all of this?” Akihiko queried. “I mean, you didn’t have to. You could have lied. What made you decide to trust me?”

Yusuf licked his lips and smiled.

“Besides the temperature drop in the room when you noticed the blood on my sleeves?” he laughed. “And the murderous look on your face?”

Akihiko rubbed his neck sheepishly.

“Right, sorry about that,” Akihiko muttered, shuffling toward the door.

“She called out your name,” Yusuf said offhandedly. Akihiko stopped in his tracks and turned over his shoulder slowly.

“While I was suturing her wounds,” the doctor continued. “She was delirious with pain, you see.  Unfortunately we both had to make do without anesthesia until we reached access to supplies.”

Akihiko’s heart began to race again, this time with a strange sentiment that resembled fear, but lacked the same devastation and anxiety of grief.

“Later, when she was conscious and sufficiently medicated, I asked her about this man, ‘Akihiko’. She denied knowing such a man,” Yusuf grinned. “She is a very poor liar.”  



	12. I Was Born for This

**January**

 

Mitsuru felt her face burn as her ribs split with pain.  

Alejandro stood in front of the handlebars of her motorcycle, his arms crossed. He expressed his disapproval with a tiny shake of his head. Mitsuru kept a stoic expression behind her helmet as she mounted the bike, but somehow Alejandro still knew she was in discomfort.

“You just got those stitches out an hour ago, boss,” he said in disbelief. “Yusuf won’t be happy to see you pulling up on a motorcycle.”  

In the shade of the outside alleyway, Mitsuru stretched her arms toward the handlebars. A moment of strain was soon washed away by the comfortable feeling of her hands wrapping snugly around the grips.

“Dr. Bahar does not need to know the details of our arrival this afternoon,” she responded distractedly.

By this time, Alejandro had learned when to push an issue and when to leave well enough alone. He handed Mitsuru a bottle of water and carefully mounted the modest street bike parked behind her. The cacophony of the street was a breath of fresh air for Mitsuru, who had been on strict house arrest for the last several weeks.

“I can bring up the rear,” Mitsuru said, looking over her shoulder. She stifled a groan as she twisted a half inch too far.

“Hell no,” Alejandro hummed, donning on his helmet.

Mitsuru fired up the engine and carefully drifted from the curb, the soft rattle of Alejandro’s  bike not far behind. She didn’t need to tell  him what his presence meant to her. He’d remained in Mexico for a total of two days after Mitsuru had left for Lebanon before he defied his uncle’s orders and joined her. Had he remained in Mexico for the full week, Mitsuru would surely have been buried in the desert sand.

She stopped at a traffic light, gingerly touching her ribs.

Mitsuru remembered the pain, flickers of light, and the sound of Yusuf’s voice. After she’d been shot, Alejandro and Yusuf had taken her back to the apartment where Yusuf had been able to confirm that Mitsuru’s lungs had been spared. She slept in a drug induced coma for several days, waking up just in time to watch, paralyzed, as Yusuf fixed a tiny party hat to her head.

“Happy New Year, Kirijo-san,” he’d said loosely as he took a swing of a bottle of champagne.

She’d spotted Alejandro snoring loudly in an armchair.

“Remove that at once,” Mitsuru had commanded with a slur.

“Who is Akihiko?”

Mitsuru had froze, a shot of adrenaline widening her eyes momentarily.

“W-What?”

“You were calling for him, in the truck,” Yusuf had smirked. “Who is he?”

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” she mumbled, her arms heavy as she tried to pluck the hat from her head. Yusuf pushed her arms down gently.

“Remove that at once,” she repeated in a murmur.

She had slipped back into unconsciousness and never knew if he’d actually followed her orders.

Her recovery was agonizing. Not due to the pain, certainly. Yusuf ensured sure she was comfortably dosed and was methodical about checking and cleaning her wounds, but Mitsuru was under strict orders not to leave the apartment, or the bed for at least two weeks. She wasn’t even allowed to brush her own hair for a week. As a child, she’d been accustomed to such treatment, but as an adult it was insulting. Mitsuru’s taste for independence had grown too fierce to revert back to the days of being doted upon.

In the end, Mitsuru learned Alejandro didn’t care to brush her hair either, but he proved himself a virtuoso with French braids.

While Yusuf and Alejandro were out gathering information about the compound near Arsal, Mitsuru would engage in small exercise, not wanting to lose any more strength. She maintained her energy to and entered into exhausting arguments with both Yusuf and Alejandro when they returned after long days of work.

Yusuf threatened to drug her. Mitsuru threatened to execute him. Alejandro threatened to shoot them both.

After pacing the apartment alone, it was not unusual for Mitsuru to pounce on Alejandro with a tirade of questioning once he returned from planning activities outside the small apartment.

“We’ll need to get Yusuf’s men prepared for a surprise attack,” she listed off for him. “We’ll need an inventory of all the weaponry and transports. The vehicles must be armored to withstand heavy shelling-”

“That’s been taken care of.”

“Then we’ll need to assign positions-”

“Not until we have the plans, thank you very much,” chimed in Yusuf.

“You’ve been in on every detail of the plan, boss,” Alejandro said wearily. “Nothing is happening without you, so just calm down.”

“Mind your tone,” Mitsuru snapped, raising her arm to wave a finger at him.  

“Mind your arm movements!” Yusuf had cried miserably, covering his eyes with a cringe. “My God, woman, I can’t bear the premise of having to sew you up again and suffer another two weeks of this hell!”

This morning, Mitsuru demanded Yusuf remove the stitches. Yusuf had thrown his hands into the air in surrender. Alejandro had not been pleased at all, but Yusuf was thinking of the long term impacts.

“If removing the stitches from a still recovering patient means I keep my sanity, then I have no choice but to do so!” Yusuf laughed maniacally. “She’s well enough as long as she doesn’t strain herself-”

“ _She_ is standing right next to you,” Mitsuru muttered.

Yusuf had promptly removed the stitches and implored Mitsuru for one day.

“One day of rest, please. Please. That’s all I ask of you,” he asked, tying off the knot. A speckle of blood flecked onto the sleeve of his rumpled shirt.

“Your sleeve,” Mitsuru pointed to his wrist.

“One day,” he reiterated impatiently, pointing a finger at her.

“One hour,” she counter-offered.

He’d muttered something to himself in Arabic and Mitsuru’s ear for languages was keen enough to denote the expletive.

It was time for her to take up her position as the planner of a coup. According to intel gathered by Yusuf’s men, Maeda still wasn’t moving any of the children out from the compound. This gave Mitsuru a sense of both panic and relief. Panicked that more experimentation was being conducted on the innocent captors, relieved that they hadn’t yet been shipped off to terrorists.

Alejandro pulled up alongside her and nodded to a dilapidated pastry shop. Mitsuru made a right turn toward the building.

Tonight, Alejandro would meet with a trusted source to obtain the last piece Mitsuru needed for her plan: the layout of the compound. The other details could be restructured if needed, but if Mitsuru and Yusuf didn’t have a firm grasp on the schematics of their target, none of it would matter.

Alejandro did not yet know was that Mitsuru would be joining his clandestine meeting. She would inform him after their meeting with Yusuf’s men.

* * *

 

Mitsuru felt a shock of adrenaline when she entered the room.

The small  basement unit was filled with two dozen men, each of them with intense gazes fixed on her. She’d once been numb to this experience as the CEO of a male dominated profession, but this was no ordinary business meeting. Most, if not all of the men had nieces, nephews, cousins, sons, and daughters whose lives were in imminent danger. Their gazes burned accusingly on this foreign woman. Mitsuru wondered if they knew it was her company that had sanctioned the acute agony they were all suffering.

Yusuf nodded his head at her professionally as Alejandro found two seats near the back.

“Gentlemen,” Yusuf gently refocused the men’s attention on him. “We are at a critical juncture. Soon, we will have the plans we need to begin our approach. If any of you have any reservations, the time to present your concerns is now.”

An uncomfortable pause encompassed the men. Mitsuru watched Yusuf’s patient, sharp eyes land on each of them coolly. Alejandro exhaled gently next to her, not immune to the osmotic discomfort.

Mitsuru read the room instantly. There were reservations aplenty, and each of them were no doubt related to her presence here.

She raised her hand. Yusuf nodded to her curiously.

“Kirijo-san,” he gestured to her. “Please.”

Mitsuru stood up and when Alejandro moved to stand beside her, she held her palm up and halted him.

She carefully moved to the center of the room, captive in the hostile gazes of Yusuf’s men.

“Salaam Alaikum,” she said. “My name is Mitsuru Kirijo.”

She paused.

“I am the reason you are all here.”

A few men shifted restlessly, some crossed their arms defensively. Mitsuru had conducted many difficult conversations. She was well-versed in the ways of handling critical topics and prided herself on timing these talks at the right opportunity. She always got nervous, but right now, she was terrified. She swallowed the sensation of her heart in her chest.

“My company was complicit in the kidnapping, experimentation, and torture of your loved ones. Your children. I know this much is true: Two men associated with the Kirijo Group embezzled funds, defrauded stakeholders and staff in order to purport acts of terrible violence against innocent children. Children they thought were disposable, children they thought had no voice to defend them.”

The anger in the room was becoming tangible. The men were muttering and Alejandro rose to his feet, looking ready to take on the entire group with one fist. Mitsuru curbed his anxiety with another flash of her palm.

“I know these men thought they had crafted the perfect shell game. I know they are wrong. They have underestimated me, but more importantly, they have underestimated you. Your love, your loyalty for your families is your strongest weapon. I have no excuse for how I allowed this to happen. If you prefer, I can offer you my most sincere apologies. I can offer you financial compensation for your pain and suffering.”

“Quiet,” warned Yusuf as the men’s voices escalated. They fell quiet immediately.

“Or,” Mitsuru said, clenching her fists in an effort to transfer her jitters away from her voice. “You can allow me to redeem my shameful oversight, my own ignorance and complicity in these unspeakable acts.”

Mitsuru looked out over the men. Some of their gazes were softening, others were becoming increasingly worried.

“Allow me the honor of fighting alongside you. Allow me to prove myself as your equal on the battlefield.  Allow me to borrow your strength so I can restore the precious lives that have been taken from you. The choice is yours.”

Mitsuru bowed at the waist, crushing a cry of pain as she did so.

Yusuf sighed in defeat.

“Please, sit down, Kirijo-san.”

Mitsuru nodded to him and rejoined Alejandro. She sat down while Alejandro remained standing. He took meticulous care to murder each and every one of the men in the room with his eyes. Mitsuru coaxed him back to his seat, but still noticed that he sat on the very edge of the chair.

“If anyone here objects to an additional warrior in this operation,” Yusuf drawled with soft deliberation. “Kindly remove yourself at once.”

A thick silence filled the room. At length, two men stood up and left the room, their fists clenched with anger. Yusuf watched them leave coolly before turning his focus back on the room.

“Very well,” Yusuf said. “With that uncomfortable business finished, let’s get to work.”

A muted sigh of relief escaped Mitsuru’s lips. Alejandro gave her shoulder a strong squeeze.

* * *

The operation would be conducted at the edge of daylight. Once they had secured the plans from an old smuggler friend of Yusuf’s at the docks this evening, they would arrange any last minute reassignments before setting out for Aarsal on the tide of dawn.

There were twenty seven men, including Mitsuru and Alejandro. She was proud to learn that all twenty seven men had military training, some rudimentary others elite. Some of them had even served in the French Foreign Legion. The first wave of fighters would roll in with heavy ammunition and artillery. Their assault would focus the fire away from the second wave, a leaner, less armed extraction team.

Mitsuru would command the second wave and Alejandro would lead the first. Once the stronghold had been penetrated, she would infiltrate the compound, find Maeda, and kill him.  

Dr. Bahar would direct the operation remotely from a nearby vehicle.

“Count on being outnumbered, but don’t count on being outgunned,” he said in parting to the group of solemn fighters. “Our mission is to drive back the enemy enough to secure the hostages.”

As the men broke and carefully timed their exits to avoid suspicion, each of them nodded to Mitsuru.

“We heard your story,” one man in a brown shirt said to her. “You were a child soldier, too.”

“Do not be troubled by the lack of faith that was shown to you today,” another man said kindly. “God sees what is in your heart.”

At last, Mitsuru, Alejandro, and Yusuf were the only remaining members of the operation left in the basement.

“I have business I must attend to at the shop,” Yusuf said. “Mariam has been overworked and I should at least do a little of the bookkeeping to make up for my absence.”

He nodded to Mitsuru.

“We’ll rendezvous after Alejandro has obtained the plans. Do try to behave yourself in the meantime, Kirijo-san. There will be plenty of time for dancing and fireworks later.”

After he left, Mitsuru turned to Alejandro.

“I’m-”

“What did he _just_ say?” he interrupted. “You’re on standby tonight, boss.”

“I’ve made up my mind,” Mitsuru retorted. “I’m coming with you. You can’t stop me.”

Alejandro dropped his head with a sorrowful sigh.

“Boss, it’s-”

“Dangerous. Unnecessary. Use whatever words you like, I have been cooped up and coddled long enough. I will not be swayed into staying grounded a minute more.”

Her partner scowled down at her helplessly.

* * *

**January**

It had been some time since Akihiko’s last stakeout. He’d had some good ones back in Port Island, back when he’d been a rookie cop shadowing under Kurosawa’s tutelage. He’d always been revved up, no matter how late the hour, no matter how boring the subject or bland the convenience store sandwiches.

Every time he left a stakeout, he’d call Mitsuru and offer to buy her coffee. She always talked him into coming over to her flat where she’d make them espressos. Coffee was overpriced, she’d told him. Why buy something one could easily make at home?

She’d changed so much since their days at Gekkoukan. Akihiko had too.

He found his water bottle and poured a bit of cold water into his cupped hand.  He’d managed to find a rental car agency willing to part with a beater in exchange for cash only offer. Akihiko had managed to grab a few hours of sleep, but he was still exhausted. He splashed his face and rechecked his surroundings. He was stationed outside of the Port of Beirut. The sun had gone down long ago.

Kurosawa had called him while he was asleep. His voicemail was cryptic.

“ _Everyone here hopes_ _you’re enjoying your vacation. Your friends wanted you to know they’ve checked into their accommodations. Send us a postcard - it would be nice to see what you’re seeing.”_

If Kurosawa was going to catch Akabe in the act of embezzlement and human trafficking, the Captain need a starting point from which to launch his trap. Documentation, evidence of funds being transferred. If this man that Akihiko was supposed to meet tonight had access to such documentation, it was imperative that Akihiko relay that he was a trustworthy ally. The documents had a purpose in and of themselves, but most importantly to Akihiko’s breaking emotions, they led to Mitsuru.

A heap of unwanted butterflies filled his stomach when he realized they were once again were in the same city.

Akihiko released a low, discontented growl as he popped his knuckles.

Now, more than ever, he had to check that old proclivity toward explosive confrontations. Back in Port Island, a chance meeting between Akihiko and Mitsuru might have been met with attempted grace and succinct kindness on behalf of both parties. In a foreign land, under such dire circumstances where innocent lives and millions of yen were in play, the stakes were higher. There was no way of knowing of how Mitsuru would react to Akihiko’s sudden and clearly reappearance in her life.

When he finally saw her again, Akihiko had no idea how the feelings bubbling in his chest would manifest. The impending confrontation around Mitsuru’s reckless decisions was a wildcard.  

It was critical that Akihiko not fly off the handle or behave in any way that might jeopardize either the lives at risk or the opportunity for catharsis.  

Akihiko heard the sleek engine of a motorcycle approaching. His ears picked soon picked up two unique transports. He double checked that the headlights of his vehicle were off and hunkered down into the seat.

A hulking man in a leather jacket appeared out from behind a shipping container. This was the guy he was looking for. Akihiko now understood why Dr. Bahar had warned him against using threats as a means to an end. He didn’t look like the kind of guy you would bet against.

* * *

 

**January**

Mitsuru leaned against the shipping container, her hands positioned readily on the pistol on her hip. Dr. Bahar had gone to great pains to ensure that his trusted friend would be the only man to meet them at the docks tonight, but even so, neither Alejandro and Mitsuru were taking any risks.

Alejandro’s imposing stature waited patiently as another man emerged from the growing shadows.

“Salaam Alaikum,” the wiry, kind faced gentleman greeted Alejandro.

“Evening,” responded Alejandro mildly, and Mitsuru stifled an exasperated sigh at Alejandro’s clipped greeting. “You got identification?”

“Of course,” the smuggler responded professionally. Mitsuru listened intently to the silence as the two men exchanged proof of their identities. She swallowed nervously. This was taking too long.

“Let’s have the plans,” Alejandro said coolly.

“Please, the money first.”

“That’s not the order we agreed on,” Alejandro said patiently. “Dr. Bahar’s instructions were clear: Plans before payment.”

Mitsuru rolled her eyes impatiently.

“Very well,” acquiesced the smuggler hesitantly.

A wave of relief rushed over Mitsuru as she heard the soft crumpling of paper. The relief turned to hot, molten fear when the sound was eclipsed by the sudden pop of gunfire.

* * *

**January**

Akihiko shot down into the driver’s seat, reaching for the non-existent firearm on his hip.

“Shit,” he hissed.

Traveling with a firearm had absolutely been out of the question, but now, facing a live firefight, Akihiko was helpless to abide the instinctual urge to lend himself to the fray. The thin, wiry man collapsed almost instantly onto the ground and Akihiko spotted a single, bloody circle on his forehead.

He peered out the driver’s side window, watching the large man with the leather jacket expertly aim a large glock into the darkness. Akihiko picked out the sound of another, more compact weapon being fired, a smaller pistol or handgun with a hammer.

He tried to get a glimpse at the second person and dove back to safety when a stray bullet ringed against the frame of his car.

“Good thing I paid cash,” he muttered to himself.

The exchange continued for another fifteen seconds before Akihiko heard screeching tires and then silence. Carefully, he raised his head to the window and saw the man with the leather jacket stumble back behind the shipping container, a streak of blood over his chest.

* * *

**January**

As the truck peeled away, Mitsuru met Maeda’s smiling eyes for a fraction of a second.

He winked at her mockingly before the truck disappeared from the Port of Beirut.

She’d done her best to cover Alejandro, but hadn’t been able to pinpoint the exact location of the incoming gunfire in time. As Maeda’s truck disappeared, Alejandro collapsed back behind the shipping container. Mitsuru set her weapon down and pushed firmly down against the bullet holes in Alejandro’s chest.

He shook and Mitsuru repaid the bruising strike he’d given her weeks ago. The blow landed without a reaction.  

“Alejandro,” Mitsuru commanded. “Open your eyes. Stand up. We have to get you to Dr. Bahar-”

Alejandro cracked his eyes open with a wheeze that brought tears to Mitsuru’s eyes.

“Don’t panic,” she whimpered to herself, her hands slick and fumbling. “I can still-”

“Boss,” he rasped. “Don’t you let him get away.”

“No,” Mitsuru barked, pushing her hands harder against his chest. The copious amount of blood obscured her from pinpointing the multiple sources of damage There was too much, she only had two hands, and she needed one of them to call Dr. Bahar. Mitsuru’s mind showed a rooftop showdown, her father whipping out his glock, the harsh percolation of gunfire signalling the end of her life as she knew it. Tears sprang to her eyes and fell against Alejandro’s cheeks.

“Don’t you fall apart on me now,” he hissed at her reproachfully as blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth. “We’ve come too far-”

“I won’t leave you,” Mitsuru whispered fearfully, shaking her head. She instantly saw her hands desperately moving over her father’s bloody and unmoving chest, his uncovered eye closed forever-

Alejandro’s hands reached up and encircled her wrists firmly.

“The kids, boss,” his breathing was ravenous and pained. Every breath he took twisted a knife deeper into Mitsuru’s heart. “Don’t forget who we came here for. They need you to get them home.”

“Don’t speak,” her command came out as a desperate plea. “I’m going to get help-”

“Don’t you let him get away,” he reached to the ground Mitsuru felt him push the cold frame of her pistol against her chest. Without consciously deciding, she captured the gun with trembling fingers. Alejandro’s hands seized her by the front of her jacket and Mitsuru openly wept as he pulled her in close.

“ _C’est pour cela que je suis nee_ ,” he smiled at her, pressing his palm to her cheek.

“No, Alejandro. Don’t you dare, don’t you dare close your eyes-”

“Go,” he said wearily.

The permanent scowl on his face relaxed into soft, peaceful lines. Mitsuru blinked away the hot tears as she cradled his head. Gently, she set him down against the pavement and sat back on her heels.

“Alejandro,” she whispered, her tears pattering against his peaceful features. “C’est pour cela que je suis nee.”

Mitsuru leaned over her cherished friend and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. She paused for just a moment longer and then rose, securing the pistol to her waist.

She found her Ducati in three long strides, the tears flowing wildly down her cheeks. She let the grief wash over her, but was careful to swallow down the rage. Rage had to be tempered, stored up, rationed out. She let it burn in her chest until she could unleash it.

She did not collect her helmet.

She threw her leg over the bike. She put the clutch in and thrust the throttle back. Her bloodied hands stopped shaking. She heard the distant squeal of rubber against the pavement. She pulled into the road, just barely glancing for oncoming traffic. Her hair ripped behind her in the wind.

When her Ducati caught up with him, Maeda would see her unmasked face in his rear-view mirror.

From the narrow corridor of shipping containers, she could see the taillights of a large truck lumbering away. Forget the plans, Mitsuru was going straight for the jugular.

 _“_ I was born for this,” she grit out.

* * *

**January**

Akihiko counted a minute and a half of silence. The truck had taken off at a leisurely pace, leaving behind two bodies. While it was too late for the wiry, thin man, Akihiko could not see the state of the larger man. His torso was obscured by the shipping container, but his legs were visible and very, very still.

Carefully, Akihiko opened the door and approached the scene of the carnage. He neared the shipping container as a burst of an engine exploded on the other side. He leapt aside, carefully pushing himself against the steel frame of the container and looked out over the side.

A wave of red hair unfurled in the wind.

Akhiko’s breath hitched in his throat as she disappeared over the crest of the road. He took a step back toward the car before pausing and turning to the injured man on the ground.

He knelt down near the victim’s chest carefully examined his wounds. He’d taken three rounds to the chest, Akihiko noted grimly. He pushed his fingers to the man’s neck and was caught by surprise when two large hands gripped him by front of his shirt.

“Don’t move,” Akihiko said, gathering his wits.

“Plans,” he gargled. Akihiko shook his head, amazed that he could speak with three bullets in his chest.

“I-”

He flicked his head to the dead man to his feet before collapsing back.

Akihiko pushed his fingers to his neck and immediately felt the telltale emptiness of death.  

Slowly, he gathered himself to his feet and found the bloodied stack of papers. He paused before turning back and collecting the heavy glock from the large man’s chest. Akihiko sprinted back to the car and threw the plans into the front seat. He dialed Dr. Bahar’s number on his phone and told him to come to the docks immediately - his man had been shot and Mitsuru was in pursuit of an armed and dangerous enemy.

He slammed his foot down on the gas and swore as the car lumbered to life.

Akihiko hoped the clunking piece of garbage would be able to catch up to Mitsuru in time - She had always been a fast rider.

* * *

 

**January**

The road twisted before pitching upward. Mitsuru ripped back on the throttle, countersteering nimbly through the sharp turns. The truck was growing larger in her crosshairs and Mitsuru struggled to keep from reaching for her pistol.

She was mere feet behind the truck when it braked suddenly and swerved into her path. Mitsuru swung back and realigned herself to the passenger’s side of the vehicle. Unwilling to be intimidated further, Mitsuru accelerated until she reached a clear vantage point from the passenger’s side window.

She aimed and took the shot.

The glass shattered. The truck swerved and Mitsuru unloaded another shot into the open window. Maeda swerved into her path again, and this time, Mitsuru braked gently before aiming a third shot into the front tire.

The truck lurched forward into skid. The stench of hot brakes filled her nose. The truck locked up, and suddenly Mitsuru’s speed dangerously exceeded that of the truck. She made a hard countersteer and felt gravity lock her into its unforgiving hold. She closed her eyes as her body to the left of the bike and the sound of metal shattering against the ground was far more terrifying than whatever impact that awaited her.

* * *

 

**January**

 

“Come on, you son of a bitch!” Akihiko slammed his palms against the steering wheel. The car heaved up the twists and turns of the road, struggling to keep pace with the minimum posted speed limit.

He’d followed the robust rev of Mitsuru’s motorcycle up the hill, but moments ago the sound of the engine had been swallowed by the terrain.

If he lost her here, he might not be able to find her again.

* * *

 

**January**

She opened her eyes to the sound of footsteps and laughter. Something pinned her entire left side to the ground. Mitsuru squinted and found her motorcycle had rolled on top of her, trapping her to the ground. It would be impossible to find the leverage needed to free herself.

Mitsuru reached down and felt the reassuring profile of her pistol. Maeda strutted toward her, snorting with delight. Mitsuru raised herself as far up as she could before shooting Maeda in the chest.

He flew back, but did not fall.

Gun still raised, Mitsuru watched in horror as Maeda resumed cackling at her after a stunned pause. He groaned in pain as he reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Didn’t that ape teach you anything?” he said. Beneath his shirt, he revealed a vest, freshly studded with the bullet from Mitsuru’s gun. “You gotta aim for the head, sweet little Kirijo-san.”

Mitsuru repositioned her arm to do exactly that, but Maeda sprang up to her and kicked the gun from her fingers. Mitsuru felt a snap in her right hand, but did not scream.

* * *

**January**

Over the low gasp of the engine, Akihiko picked out the unmistakable sound of a bullet striking kevlar.

He was close, close enough to cover the distance on foot.

Akihiko brought the insufferable vehicle to an easy stop. Once he checked the glock for an acceptable amount of ammunition, he leapt from the car and broke into a full on sprint up the hill.

* * *

 

**January**

“You know, I wasn’t going to seek you out,” Maeda said. “But the shit you pulled back in Mexico made Akabe-san really nervous. You are one crazy bitch, I’ll give you that,” Maeda said, leisurely pushing his weight over the broken frame of the motorcycle.

Mitsuru snarled as she felt her bones compress from the stress of the weight. She looked up at Maeda venomously, tears of sorrow and agony burning fresh in her eyes.

“Burning down a school, taking away the market for some of my best customers in Mexico, throwing a gauntlet down in front the world’s nastiest extremists,” Maeda continued, rocking back and forth on the bike frame with his leg. Maeda licked his lips in delight as Mitsuru cringed in agony.

“It’s clear you don’t quite understand the magnitude of our work!” he exclaimed, leaning forward. The bike squeaked and crunched, smashing Mitsuru’s body harder into the ground. She refused to cry out.

“We are tapping into the potential of youth to create a more perfect world. These kids are the face of the future, Kirijo-san. I see it, Akabe-san sees it, Chairman Ikutsuki saw it-”

He grinned at the effect of the Chairman’s name on Mitsuru. With a weak grunt, she grasped a hold of the motorcycle frame with the heel of her broken hand and began to push with all of her strength. With a minor nudge, Maeda used the frame to pin her back to the ground.

Mitsuru cried out as her shoulder snapped.

Maeda chortled.

“Why can’t _you_ see it? You’re supposed to be a visionary, a leader, but instead you’re just a naive idiot, a God-damned thorn in my side!”

He reached for the holster on his side and pushed his hands together in prayer. He sighed serenely.

“Look, Kirijo-san,” Maeda started calmly, loading a fresh clip into the gun.  “Let’s find harmony. Akabe-san’s getting squirrely, thinks the police are onto him. So now he’s divesting all the money we’ve poured into this operation. I need a new partner to help me achieve Ikutsuki’s vision. You’ve obviously got the balls Akabe-san lacks, and I could use a ruthless mind like yours to win over some new clients.”

Maeda crouched down, using his knee to direct the weight of the bike. The pain increased with exacting precision and Mitsuru closed her eyes as Maeda continued.

“Imagine, you’re back home in those swanky offices of yours, wining and dining the most lucrative powerhouses in the world. We’re beyond Mexico and Lebanon, here. You can be my recruiter, my liaison. You’ll supply me with new clients, and I’ll make sure the sky’s the limit for the Kirijo Group. I’ll even let you take all the credit,” he grinned, easing up on the motorcycle frame slightly.

Mitsuru’s lips trembled as she envisioned thousands of children, children from schools like Agua Prieta and Al Boutul being sold into slavery. The bile rose to her throat as she pictured families ripped apart by violence. Families like Alejandro’s. A fresh wave of tears hit her and mingled sourly with her rage.

“So why don’t you just fly back home and help me embrace this new, exciting joint venture between us?”

Mitsuru looked up at him. Flat on the ground, utterly defeated and humiliated, she licked her lips and took a deep breath.

“Go to hell.”

* * *

**January**

Akihiko cleared the hilltop and immediately took inventory of three objects: First, a truck rolled on its side on the sloping edge of the road. Second, Mitsuru’s motorcycle, broken and twisted. Third, the gun in hand, pointed straight at-

 _He will put a bullet through her heart, if you don’t go now._ The little boy Gabriel’s voice reminded him. _She’ll die alone._

Akihiko took up the glock in a stance he’d perfected in training, and aimed for his target’s knee. He squeezed the trigger and heard his target scream in anguish. The man quickly returned fire, and Akihiko took cover behind the flimsy aluminum barricade before quickly unloading another round, this time aimed for the man’s shoulder. He missed the shot, but resumed doling out the fire. Any pause or break would only give him the opportunity to return his attention to Mitsuru.

The sound of squealing tires screamed suddenly onto the scene. Akihiko peered around the corner as the man hobbled into the car, and Akihiko couldn’t help but unleash a few rounds into the car’s back window as it fled down the mountainside.

He heard the labored breathing of someone trapped under steel wreckage. Akihiko quickly rushed over before leveraging his weight against the bike, careful to avoid the fragile person underneath.  

* * *

**January**

When the first shot was fired, Mitsuru had kept her eyes open. Strangely, Maeda had fled but Mitsuru hadn’t felt the bullet enter her chest. She closed her eyes as a blast of gunfire incited a moment of cognitive dissonance.

Mitsuru inhaled sharply, a rush of involuntary tears pricking her eyes as the crushing weight of her Ducati was suddenly peeled away from the left side of her body. Pain rushed to fill the sudden space left by the crushing weight and Mitsuru wondered where Maeda had shot her.  She heard movement, someone crouching down beside her. Mitsuru deduced her life was forfeit and spared no energy to open her eyes.

“Mitsuru.”

The touch of leather grazed her cheek.

“Mitsuru.”

She crinkled her forehead. She’d felt the caress of that leather once, a long time ago.

“Can you hear me?”

Disoriented, she mustered the will to open her eyes.

Gray eyes bore into hers. He peered critically into her pupils as though searching for the answer to a vexing problem. Over Akihiko’s shoulder, Shinjiro’s apparition crossed his arms smugly.

Mitsuru looked back at him dumbly. He’d become leaner than when she last saw him. His arms finely toned and meticulously trained. His black clothes appeared tired and worn, as though he had not changed in some time. His eyes were gaunt, but even the dark circles illuminated his crisp silver irises. More ghosts, she decided. A cold feeling burrowed into her chest and Mitsuru felt tired. The shadows, the phantoms, the endless running, it was all so exhausting. She just wanted to rest. She closed her eyes-

The leather gloves snapped together in a clap above her face.

Annoyed, Mitsuru opened her eyes again.

Akihiko unclasped his hands and took her by the jaw, his touch no longer caressing but firm and urgent.   

“Your left shoulder is dislocated,” he stated.

Shinjiro started giggling. Mitsuru struggled between glaring at him and focusing on the hallucination of her best friend and former lover.

“. . . Need to get you out of here, but. . . need to relocate your. . . there’s. . . intense pain. . . only for a moment.”

Mitsuru squinted up at him bemusedly, fascinated by the lucidity of his appearance. When his fingers pressed bruisingly into her chin, Mitsuru felt a tingle of panic fill the tips of her fingers. She reached up and traced his chin, feeling a fine layer of stubble beneath her bloodied fingers. Perhaps he was not a hallucination. Mitsuru’s jumbled thoughts appeared to be clearly written on her face and Akihiko was looking at her as though she’d cracked her head open.  

“Do you understand?” he said slowly.

Mitsuru swallowed hard as her vision doubled.

“I think she gets it now,” Shinjiro said down to her, his laughter cooling. He kneeled on her other side, looking to Akihiko victoriously. “It’s like I said, Mitsuru. Live or die - you’re in deep shit.”

She exhaled roughly, shaking her head.

“I am not afraid,” Mitsuru rasped in response to the ghost. Akihiko emitted a sour noise, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

She released an involuntary shiver as his fingers expertly probed the joints on her shoulder. With a slight push of his hands, Mitsuru was thrown into darkness.

* * *

The aroma of fresh eggs stirred her. A pang of hunger was quickly followed up with a dull throb from her left shoulder. With great effort, Mitsuru looked down at her shoulder. Her entire body was stiffly arranged on the bed, and a dozen or so ugly rashes marred the skin on her left arm.

She gnashed her teeth together as she pulled herself up, the gentle rustling of pots and pans in the kitchen coaxing her back to life.

Alejandro was making something delicious.

Mitsuru glanced down at her shoulder again, the muted pain suddenly acute. A flood of disjointed memories crashed over her. The smuggler, the plans, gunfire-

“Alejandro,” she murmured. No, it couldn’t be.

Her mind confirmed the truth. Alejandro was gone. Maeda had ambushed them, and Mitsuru had given chase. Mitsuru gently cupped her shoulder gap, the tears rushing from her eyes. She’d caught up to him, but Mitsuru had crashed. She remembered discharging her weapon, but the rest was a dead end in her memory.

Mitsuru heard a cupboard open and furrowed her eyebrows.

Alejandro - she had to go back to him, she couldn’t leave him there. She needed to get him back to his family. Mitsuru remembered the plans with a curse. What an imbecile she'd been, leaving the plans on the docks. She had to go back immediately and find them and get the documents to Dr. Bahar. 

She reached under the bed and removed the gun strapped to the frame, thanking Alejandro for taking such a wise precaution.

As quietly as she could, Mitsuru checked that it was loaded and slowly inched toward the door. Mitsuru passed the mirror and took in the severity of the road rash on her left arm. The corner of her mouth was crusted with dry blood, and an ugly bruise was forming on her left cheek. With great effort, she pulled back her hair and moved past the mirror, wondering if her gunshot wound had also been reopened.

She twisted the knob silently before cocking the gun and bracing her arms into a ready position.

The intoxicating aroma of eggs was joined by sizzling sausage and potatoes. The sound of a spatula scraping against a ceramic griddle gave Mitsuru the noise she needed to turn the corner.

Akihiko glanced up at her as he plated the eggs.

“Didn’t know if you still liked your eggs scrambled,” he said casually, leaning forward to set the plate down in front of the chair closest to her. “There’s plenty more eggs if you want something different.”

Mitsuru’s arms went rigid as she gripped the gun tighter.

Akihiko turned to her face-on. The morning light filtering through shone on Akihiko’s lean physique.  Akihiko wore a plain black shirt and tan slacks and he appeared freshly showered and shaved. Still, he did not look well-rested. Mitsuru could see the dark circles haunted his eyes in addition to the severe black eye that appeared to be on the mend.

“Scrambled is fine,” Mitsuru heard her own voice murmur back, her gun still trained on Akihiko.

Her shoulder began to cramp up. Mitsuru swallowed back the pain as her eyes began to water from discomfort. Akihiko pursed his lips and acknowledged the gun with a humorless smile.

“That’s a nice looking stance you got there. Would you mind lowering your weapon?” he asked steadily.

Mitsuru recognized his tone immediately. This was not the Akihiko Sanada Mitsuru had grown up with, fought alongside, and fallen in love with, but Lieutenant Sanada of the Tatsumi Port Island 16th Precinct. This was the man who had chosen a life as an officer of the peace over a life with her.

They stared at each other evenly over the smooth lines of Mitsuru’s gun.

Mitsuru struggled against a stalwart hesitation to lower her arms. Akihiko’s calm gaze finally persuaded her to release her arms to her sides, but she kept the gun secured in her hand. Akihiko wasn’t a threat to her safety, she knew, but he was a potential threat to completing her mission.

“Thanks,” Akihiko said earnestly. "Looks like your hand is working just fine again."

Mitsuru glanced down at her right hand quickly. She tightened her grip on the gun to test out the flexibility of the tiny ligaments in her fingers.

"Well enough," she said. "Your Diarahan's rusty."

Akihiko laughed mirthlessly.

"Won't argue with you there. I’m sure you’re wondering how I got us back here. Your friend Dr. Bahar gave me instructions to the apartment. I found the keys in the seat compartment of your bike. We can talk later about the rest.”

Akihiko reached to the kitchen counter and picked up a manila envelope. Mitsuru jumped slightly when he threw the file down on the kitchen table.

She immediately recognized it as the evidence she had collected at the Agua Prieta school.

“Have a seat,” he said in a voice that left no room for dispute.

Her gaze hardened on him and he narrowed his eyes ever so slightly on her. Akihiko never spoken to her in that tone, but Mitsuru instantly knew it as a voice used exclusively for the interrogation room.

Akihiko gestured to the seat before her, his eyes cutting straight to her core.

Mitsuru did not sit down.

 


End file.
